Sink or Swim
by MPRW
Summary: Originally a one-shot entitled "The Comfort of a Lady," now a longer story. The secret (and I hope plausible) relationship between Mary and Chapuys embroidered around actual scenes from The Tudors. First story, reviews welcome!
1. The Comfort of a Lady

**Author's Note: This is my first story, originally intended to be a one-shot, but YOU convinced me to continue(so you have only yourselves to blame), and I'll be as surprised as you to see how far this goes! I own nothing and mean no harm-I'm just borrowing these wonderful characters for a bit of fun! All dialogue transcribed directly from The Tudors is in bold italics to show that, while I hope you enjoy the embroidery around them, those words are not my own. I apologize for any historical inaccuracies, but if Showtime can do it, then so can I! Reviews are welcome and appreciated!  
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**SINK OR SWIM ****by MPRW**

_Caught in the middle of a crossfire, _

_Lost my balance on a high wire,_

_Trying to figure out what to do, _

_Pushed to the edge of my reason,_

_Everywhere around me it's treason,_

_I don't want to do that to you._

_Kamikaze airplanes in the sky,_

_Are we going down, or will we fly?_

_This could be a shipwreck on the shore,_

_Or we could sail away forevermore._

_This time, it's sink or swim._

_Hearing the song in your laughter,_

_The melody I chase after,_

_No one else has done this to me._

_Take a deep breath,_

_No more time left,_

_This is what I thought I wanted, _

_Why am I afraid?_

_Sink or Swim~Tyrone Wells_

**1~The Comfort of a Lady**

**"…_my poor, sweet Lady…"_**

Mary sobbed broken-heartedly into Eustace's chest as he held and rocked her shaking frame. After the initial wave subsided, she sat back, ashamed of her childish outburst and studied the pallor of her hands. Eustace gently lifted her chin and, though she would not meet his eyes, kissed each of her eyelids where her tears were drying on her lashes. She found his gaze then and wanted to drown in it.

Desirous longing drew them together and suddenly their lips were crushing each other with the might of undeniable forces.

Mary was faintly aware of the rustling of her taffeta skirts as Eustace gently pulled her more into his lap. Her mind swam as they continued their kiss, sinking into a heap of layered fabric on the floor. Only his hiss of breath as she leaned into his bad leg broke the spell. She righted herself in an instant but continued kneeling beside him and marveling at his features.

He saw all the unspoken questions in her eyes then, and as he held her gaze, all understanding passed between them. She gave him her arm to help him stand, but when they stood once again facing each other, it was he who took the lead. He held Mary's hand in both of his and kissed her palm, wrist, and each of her fingers. Then with the crook of his finger under her chin, he lifted her face until he could melt once more into the deep pools of her innocent eyes. He kissed her perfect rosebud mouth and felt all of his muscles flutter as she responded, surging into him. Her hands went to his face and neck, grazing his earlobes and bearded jaw line, and playing in his curls before coming to rest on his chest. He used this moment to pull her closer into him and bury his nose in the glossy softness of her hair.

She closed her eyes as she helped him remove the pins and ornaments. Her hood made a soft thud as it hit the floor at their feet. Her neck arched as he combed his long fingers through her luxuriant chocolate tresses. The sigh that escaped her lips nearly stopped his heart. He clasped her hand to that stunned organ and waited until she brought her eyes back to his. He needed to know—to be sure, and she answered him almost before the question could form itself in his eyes. Still grasping her hand, he led her slowly to the bedside. However, before he could surrender himself to this insanity, he kissed her hand and held it as long as he could while passing from her to secure the chamber doors.

Mary sent up silent prayers for so many things until she felt Eustace's soft lips and the slight tickle of his beard graze the base of her neck. He swept her hair over her shoulder and she felt every nerve in her body tingle as he began to unlace her bodice. In the moment when they first kissed, time had all but stopped, now it snapped forward as Mary registered, with sudden but idle curiosity, the heaping fabric of her gown swelling about her feet. The rising heat she felt within her vibrating frame protected her from any chill she should be feeling now clad only her chemise and stockings. Mary turned to Eustace, needing the reassurance of his smile, and felt almost as a spectator while her delicate fingers worked at the tiny buttons on his doublet. Having gotten that far, she felt her cheeks flush as she had no knowledge of men's clothes beyond this point—or what, exactly, was supposed to happen next.

Sensing her momentary distress, Eustace pulled her into him and swayed her ever so slightly while he hummed an old Spanish lullaby. She visibly relaxed against him, resting her head on his chest. She barely noticed when he lowered her gently onto the bed, and opened her eyes only when she felt his absence.

There he stood divested of his doublet. After giving her an explanatory look, he removed his hose and stood presentationally before her in his long linen chemise. Knowing she was not quite ready for the rest of the story yet, he moved to the bedside taking one of her tiny feet into his hands. Keeping his eyes always on hers, he slid his hands up past her ankle and knee to remove her stocking. She giggled as he placed wispy kisses along the top of her now bare foot, making him chuckle in return. The other stocking followed more quickly as he felt the burning need to taste her lips once more.

Climbing in bed beside her, he rested his forehead against hers as they sent up one final silent prayer before surrendering to the kiss. Their tongues came together this time, answering their need to taste one another, and Eustace moved his hands over her body—her soft breasts through her chemise, the curves of her waist and hips, her delicate legs and tender thighs. Neither one noticed her chemise until it became bunched between them under her chin. Before she could become aware enough to take note of this embarrassment, Eustace removed it from her in one sweep.

Now, they both stopped, silent in the candlelight, as he looked upon her fully for the first time. He had to touch her, and she needed him to do it, before all reason returned.

She placed her hand over his on the swell of her soft breast and reached for his lips with hers. She banished all coherent thought as he slowly brushed his fingers down across her quivering abdomen to the soft patch of hair between her thighs, where they played lazily in those curls, making her ready for him.

Knowing he needed to distract her again for what was to come, he broke their kiss, trailing his lips and tongue slowly downward to the breast his hand had so recently abandoned.

Unsure of what to do with this new development, Mary sank her head back into the pillow and closed her eyes in order to better process her other senses. Her fingers idly twisted his soft curls and even her toes tingled as she felt his mouth close on her breast. All at once she felt his tongue flick lightly over her nipple and his thumb graze her—what was it? It felt like the very center of her being.

He smiled over her delicate nipple as her heard her gasp of ecstatic surprise. He could feel her heart pounding wildly as he continued his careful ministrations. He ached with the yearning to feel the utter completeness of her. The very idea nearly undid him as he felt all the blood rushing to his groin. No, there would be time for that later. He had to stay focused on her is they were to make it that far together. Thus, he gave up her breast, trailing his lips down to her center, ultimately replacing his hand with his tongue. At this, her hands tightened in his hair and she rocked her pelvis toward him, her rapturous moans the only encouragement he needed to plunge his tongue deeply into her and taste all of the sweetness of her readiness for him.

Mary was falling off the edge of the world with only her hands in Eustace's curls to save her. His growing determination to taste all of her called for her to hurl herself from the precipice—to open her very soul and release everything to him. One last thrust and he felt her let go, heard her moan in surrender. He moved up to revel in the sweetness of her face and held her tightly as she came apart in his arms. She looked on him drowsily once she had recovered and he kissed her again before thought could return. Mary placed her arms on his chest and frowned upon encountering his chemise. He knew it was time for his unveiling, so he gently encouraged her in her hesitant removal of his last article of clothing.

Perhaps it was a momentary return of her nerves which set her to trembling, but Mary pulled Eustace to her instinctively, wanting to feel the warmth of his bare skin on hers. Her hands played across the wide expanse of his chest and his strong arms. Her status of birth meant that she had only rarely enjoyed the quieting comfort of a masculine embrace, and only then in the briefest of moments with her estranged father. She knew with the certainty of a child that no harm could befall her here in Eustace's arms.

The feel of her light touch on the hair of his chest made his breath accelerate. Mary was in the midst of a fascinated exploration of his nipple when she became aware of a slight pressure against her thigh. She casually moved one hand down to brush aside the offending article, but just as she did so, she heard Eustace moan and shudder against her. She stopped cold, unsure of what she had done. Had she accidentally hurt his swollen leg again?

Eustace knew the time had come. He needed to feel her before he came undone, but she had to feel him first, to know what was coming. Looking reassuringly in her eyes, he places her hand against his thick shaft. His eyes willed her instincts to know, finally, what he was. She kept her fingers against him as he moved to position himself over her, the head of his manhood resting against her softened center. With a soft kiss on her lips, he began to sink into her. A moan of pain welled up in her throat. Willing her to forgive him this, he thrust suddenly into her, claiming her startled cry with his mouth and her body with his.

Mary's world had gone red with pain but not fear. Eustace held her in the assured safety of his arms. This though alone was enough to secure her against further pain.

Eustace held himself still as she slowly relaxed around him. Bit by bit, she unfurled and he sank further into her. Then, slowly, he began the ancient primal rhythm and she rocked against him, their souls melding into one. He reveled in the sensation of every part of her holding him tightly as he moved within her. He felt his control slipping and his rhythm accelerating, but he knew she was with him.

Faster and faster they rocked, spinning out of control and holding fast to each other. Every barrier dropped away until nothing else existed but their common soul in an expanse of eternity. They felt his final release, now hers, theirs—and came to rest in a puddle of satiated fulfillment in each other's arms.

Eustace rolled back into the pillows pulling Mary with him until her fevered brow rested on his chest. He kissed her dewy locks as she hummed along in time with his heartbeat.

Neither knew how long their journey had taken, or what this meant for either of them—those realities would intrude upon them all too soon—but for the moment, time and reason abandoned them both as they slept in blissful union.


	2. Keeping Time

**2~Keeping Time**

"Our hearts are keeping time together," thought Mary in her awakening moments; "and he snores," she giggled to herself, careful not to rouse him.

Keeping time…Mary wanted to keep this time, to hold it like a precious relic in her palm, but the moments crept on at an unrelenting pace that defied her. Though her fingers swept drowsy circles across his chest, her disquieted mind churned with uncertainties as realities began to intrude upon her fiercely guarded rapture.

Eustace Chapuys was a _commoner_…in the service of her _father_…and was old enough to _be_ her father come to that! And she was no longer an innocent princess, a pearl of anyone's world, but rather a spoilt prize for her father to proffer for the great (and not so great) princes of Europe. She should feel defiled, ashamed, and utterly wretched, but hearing Eustace's gentle snoring and feeling his arm securing her to him, she found it impossible to summon up any modicum of remorse, guilt, or shame. He had been sent by her mother and her mother's family to watch over her, to protect her; and he had befriended her, defended her, loved and made love to her.

A blush warmed her features upon arriving at this final thought, the rosy portraits of their lovemaking dancing across her memory. She raised herself to gaze on his peaceful countenance. How young and unperturbed he looked a rest. The distinguished graying of his beard alone gave credence to his being so many years her senior. In that moment however, she thought him, simply, the handsomest man she had yet seen. She capriciously placed a tender kiss over his heart and settled back against him to wring the final fleeting indulgences from this ephemeral atmosphere.

Eustace smiled in his waking moments feeling her lips on his body and instinctively pulled her closer to him to glory in his fulfillment; he stroked her head and marveled at the softness of her hair. He remembered how refined she had looked when they had met in the audience chamber earlier that day—was it this same day? It seemed eons ago and worlds away from where they were suspended now.

With her hair swept up, she had looked sophisticated, self-assured, and peerlessly regal. The late Queen Katherine would have been proud of this daughter. Her steely hued gown had set off the glow in her eyes when she saw him, a glow that all at once fired his heart. Though this damnable gout was threatening to disable him, at that moment when their eyes met, he could have bodily conquered the whole of Europe just to place so humble an offering at her feet…and then she had said his _name. _

One could say that their long standing association or friendship of sorts had rendered them equals in a sense, but something in her voicing of his own name had set his very marrow to vibrating. He remembered being very glad that she had invited him to sit before his knees gave way.

"Humph, well for a convenient excuse, this illness could have at least proven useful," he mused.

He closed his eyes and demanded of his senses a complete recalling of her saying his name, but the sensations that swelled forth; images of her fragile frame naked in the candlelight, soft sounds of her harmonious sighs, the feel of her body clinging to his, and the look of absolute trust and desire in her eyes, filled his heart near to bursting. Suddenly, he needed to hear his name from her again, a sort of reassurance that all that had transpired between them was real. He looked down at the crown of her head and summoned the courage to make the request.

"My Lady?"

So engaged in the semblance of sleep was she that she had failed to realize he had awoken. Every fiber in her body froze for; though they still lay limbs and souls entwined, she was his "Lady" again. What would he say now that rank and reason were returned to them? Breath stilled, mind careening, and heart pounding, she could do naught but wait.

"May I make a small request?"

He pressed cautiously ahead, but how to continue?—no way but forward, empowered by the glow of their lovemaking.

"Give me my name again."

"Eustace," Mary breathed.

She could not have withheld had she desired it. His name felt liquid delicious and familiar on her tongue. She whispered it again and again and again to herself until his hand lifted her face to his, his lips ceasing her new mantra as they seared her flesh. She responded with a fierce determination to hold them both locked in that kiss for all eternity, her final desperate attempt to _keep this time_.

It nearly abused Eustace physically to break that kiss, but it had proven to be the spell that opened the gateway between their world of timeless passion and the cruelty of their physical plane of existence. Someone would come for her and wonder at the locked door. He had duties as had she, and their complicit dereliction of said duties would be the end of them both.

"Forgive me, My Lady, but we must take heed."

He moved to sit up and swung his legs over the bedside. With surprising speed given his infirmity, he moved to don his discarded chemise and hose and to locate his doublet.

In another mindset, Mary might have more thoroughly enjoyed the fleeting view of his hind end as he sprang from her bed, but a disquieting numbness has drifted about her, clinging like the omnipresent cloudy haze that enshrouded the whole of England.

Eustace was hastening to fasten the buttons of his doublet when the odd stillness of Mary's form registered amidst his frenzied movements.

"Please, My Lady, whatever happens, we must set the world to rights." He implored.

"Even if all that is within me rages in defiance of that course of action?" Mary replied.

For here it was again, another instance of compliance with someone else's rules demanding of Mary a betrayal of her very nature. She had been denied her natural mother, pressed into the service of her bastard half-sister, forced to declare herself a bastard, made to swear that presumptuous oath of supremacy—she had been subjected to one act of cruelty after another. Yes, reality had returned in full force, and this accursed lot was hers to bear, just as her mother had borne wave upon wave of disappointment and heartbreak at the hands of her father.

The flat, toneless quality of her voice then, the voice that only moments ago had thrilled him to impossible dreams, now frightened him with its utter emptiness and he reached across the bed to take her hand.

"Mary," he whispered.

Was this plea for her benefit or his? Her gift of his name had held all of the strength and assurance he needed in his most vulnerable state. Could he perhaps bestow upon her the same promises amidst the unhappy truths that threatened her now? "Let this be her shield against such bitterness," he prayed.

And in that name, Mary was once again impervious to all menace. She took Eustace's hand in both of hers and brought it to her lips as she held his gaze for a moment. The intensity that burned there made her blush as she realized her current state of disrobement. She turned her back to him shyly, gathered her gown and underpinnings, and began to dress in silence. She wondered absentmindedly about who would lace her back into her bodice until she felt the familiar tickle of his beard on her neck.

"You are a true servant, Excellency," she purred as his arms stole about her waist, "Now, what have you done with my stockings?

"They must have been lost en route between England and the Empire," Eustace, his chin on her shoulder, answered with so much nonchalance.

Returning to the task at hand, they smirked at each other across the bed frame until, lifting back the counterpane, they suddenly beheld there on the sheets the undeniable proof of their union. One was struck by the thought that this angry truth of their passion might serve as a portent against their impossible future together; the other acknowledged that blessed stain as the seal of a holy covenant between them.

"Have your most trusted maid remove and burn these this very night," Eustace said quietly, ashamedly.

"Of course…I will always do as you advise, _Excellency_," Mary answered meekly, leveling her gaze at him and waiting until he met her eyes, "but..._Eustace_, take this with you as a token of our bond, proof that I am yours now as much as your are mine."

And with that she determinedly ripped a strip of unstained cloth from the edge of the sheet and tore it in two, handing one piece to him. He took it from her tremulous fingers and tied it to one of the cords at the neck of his chemise so that it hung against his chest, close to his heart. Recognizing this opportunity to bask once more in the fragile closeness of her, he pulled her to him an intimate embrace.

Mary's eyes, when reopened, beheld only a glance of his back and unruly, curly locks as he strode from the room. She followed the fading essence of him to the door, half collapsing against the frame. She felt as though her very spirit had left her body in an effort to follow his. A moment and a prayer later she arose, standing resolutely, armed with her frayed linen favor.

"Susan! I require your attention!" She called from the doorway.

There was no hint of frailty in her voice.


	3. Dissonant Heartstrings

**3~Dissonant Heartstrings**

"My Lady, His Excellency, the Imperial Ambassador is here." Susan curtsied and stepped aside for Eustace to enter.

"Thank you, Susan." Mary turned to the window and quickly pressed her cool fingers to the ripening flush of her cheeks. Hearing his familiar gait, she turned and greeted him somewhat self-consciously, "Eu-, Your Excellency, it is…good to see you."

"Your Grace," he bowed appropriately, but seemed to be waiting for her to speak.

The morning after her passionate exchange with Eustace, Mary had gone to take proper leave of the King, pleading a wish to return to her quiet life at Hunsdon following the whirlwind of holiday festivities as she was ill-accustomed to the vivacity of court life. Her father, still very much wallowing in the novelty of his nubile queen, was content to grant Mary's request as she had fulfilled her duty by showing herself to be a credit to him. From that time to this there had been no communication whatsoever with Eustace, and the space of six weeks was more than enough to engender a web of doubts and uncertainties. Did he regret their communion? Did she? A model of obedience almost to a fault, she knew she was not her own, but her father's to give away in such an accord as was most advantageous to him; and yet, she had freely and of the purest spirit, given herself to this man with whom she could have no future. Clearly, such perpetual obeisance had rendered her insane, and thus her rational mind would not condone the utter foolishness of her actions.

"I trust you are well?" she inquired politely.

"Yes, My Lady, thank you… I came here today to… Please allow me to say…I must tell you that I—," he stammered.

Damn you, Man! How many times had he practiced this argument as if preparing for his most critical diplomatic assignment? In the weeks since their ill-advised indiscretion, as he had delicately come to think of it, Eustace had near to constantly berated and reviled himself for his contemptible behavior towards this virtuous woman. She had trusted him to be her champion and protector, and he had taken her as a victim to his depraved lust. Despite his frequent castigation, the images of their congress filled his senses and, without fail, demanded a physical response from his body. Such torment was to be his punishment for so egregious a crime against her, and now as penance, he must do his utmost to make her forget him and the irreparable harm he had done her. How frustrated he was to find that, when he most required it, all his practiced eloquence had deserted him upon reencountering those captivating eyes, which now peered curiously at him as she waited for him to continue.

Suddenly feeling hemmed in by the great stone walls surrounding them, Mary craved an unbounded expanse of sky which might facilitate a less stilted conversation.

Feigning a lightness she did not feel, she said brightly, "I'm afraid the freezing rains have lent an air of dank oppression to this house. I propose to take a turn about the orchard to lift my spirits, if you would be so kind as to accompany me."

"Of course, Your Grace," he replied.

While waiting for Susan to ready the Princess for venturing out of doors, Eustace attempted to gather his thoughts. Thus far she seemed to harbor no ill-will toward him but, while he had considered her ire as a possible reaction, his greater fear was that in her youthful inexperience, she would attach to his licentious advances a misconceived infatuation. Such was his most deplorable charge that, as much as he sought to beg her pardon and garner the balm of her forgiveness, he cowered at the thought of having to break her heart and thus commit yet another vile act against this much-besieged Princess.

"My Lady, I…" he began again as they made their way down the path to the orchard, "I apologize for not being in contact with you sooner. It is just that I needed time to…well to…" but still his articulate arguments failed him.

With seeming benevolence she asked, _**"How is my father?"**_

In truth, Mary surmised from his linguistic grappling that he was, in fact, remorseful of their union. After all, he was far worldlier than she with respect to such intimacies. Was it possible that he assumed, and rightly so, that she would make too much of something that was to a man such as he, a rather ordinary occurrence? Or perhaps he was simply embarrassed by her display of wonton behavior and had come to take his leave of her altogether? In that moment, she was not prepared to face either possibility, and so she forestalled that topic for the time being.

Steering into the realm of business rather than personal affairs relieved him at once, and his words flowed easily, "_**The king, having recovered from his recent illness, seems in much better humor, My Lady. He is planning to make a progress to the north of England. A great deal of work is already instigated. They say that embroiderers are working on furniture and tapestries using copse and ornaments stripped from the churches, alas." **_Eustace's gout-afflicted limb protested the penetrating chill and uneven ground most apparently in a severely pronounced limp and the interjectory hisses of pain that peppered his speech.

Mary, taking note of his discomfort, reproached herself for suggesting this walk. **"**_**Excellency,"**_ she gestured for him to sit.

_** "Thank you, Madam," **_he moved to sit on the stone bench she indicated.

He cursed inwardly at this evident sign of weakness and aged brokenness. How miserable was he to be brought so low before this enchanting woman in the blush of youthful vitality. He smiled self-consciously at her as she seated herself beside him. He was struck at once by how regal she appeared then, her porcelain face lit by the grayish sky above. She had the same dignified bearing as her mother. "Truly, this woman should be Queen," he thought, and in the same moment remembered another woman who held that title, a woman who gave him official cause to visit the Lady Mary this day. "Even in business affairs, I must once again do harm to My Lady" he sighed.

_** "There is another reason why the king's humor is improved. There are rumors the queen is thought to be with child," **_he said gently.

Mary pursed her lips as unbridled resentment rose like bile in her throat. What cruel injustice granted such joyous gifts as marriage and children to so senseless and shallow a woman—nay little more than a child herself? "Why should she bask in such grace while I am denied every possibility of happiness?" Mary thought bitterly.

_** "I am sure His Majesty would be overjoyed if she produced a Duke of York," **_she spat.

Experience had taught Eustace that once broached; the unpleasant aspects of a subject were best pushed quickly aside in favor of more positive persuasive arguments. _**"On the other hand, if she does not, then the succession may, in fact, remain an open question,"**_ he deftly suggested.

_** "What do you mean? Surely Edward is first in line, who could doubt it?"**_ she was caught off guard.

_** "Lady Mary, certain important people at court have told me they feel a scruple of conscious over the fact that Prince Edward's mother, Queen Jane, was never ever formally crowned, unlike your own mother, Queen Katherine. So the rumor also goes that the King intends to crown his new queen at York, so if she has a son, no one can question his legitimacy or right to the throne,"**_ Eustace explained.

_**"But if she does not have a son-,"**_Mary posited.

_**"Exactly, it would strengthen your own claim to the crown." **_

Eustace watched her expression carefully at these words and was gratified to find there that which he had suspected. Yes, his princess was ambitious, she wanted to be queen. Perhaps she had always been prepared to accept the crown if it were her duty, her mother would have expected that; but she was, in truth, King Henry's daughter, and it was his likeness that Eustace read plainly in her features then. He pressed forward, leaning on that appetite as the gentlest means of disabusing her of any girlish notions she might harbor for him.

_**"Which is why these certain people at court have assured me how they pray; pray not only for the overthrow of vile reformers like Hertford, but for the day and the hour that Your Grace succeeds to the throne," **_he continued fervently.

"The throne," Mary considered, "myself upon the throne of England as was my mother's greatest wish and also my right as my father's first-born legitimate daughter, the office and the opportunity to right so many wrongs." She saw in this a palpable hope of redressing the grievous ills of this poor realm, its unfortunate people and, of course, her own downtrodden state. She, Mary Tudor, might one day be the champion that restored this aimless land and its people to God and the true religion, its only salvation against an abyss of forsakenness. Ah, but that was too far, she had not yet been called to such glorious work; and who was she but a lonely young woman, discarded and helpless, at the mercy of so many misguided men?

_**"Only if God wills it, Excellency, only if God wills it," **_replied Mary reverently, silently remonstrating herself for falling prey to the sin of pride.

_**"But he must will it, Lady Mary, for how else will this country ever be restored to obedience, to faith. Otherwise, as things are, it will go to the devil."**_Eustace answered.

Perhaps it was his ominous tone as he spoke those words or simply the February chill of Hertfordshire, but Mary shivered against a cold that was creeping into her very bones. Suddenly she was weary of the perpetual war between duty and desire, worn from the persistent struggle against the unyielding confines of her life. She coveted nothing more than a merry fire in the hearth and a bit of frivolous conversation. Thinking Eustace might also find better comfort indoors, she sought to engage him thus,

"Excellency," she said, still using his title in light of his insistent formality, "While I do not wish to diminish the import of such matters, I wonder if you would you care to throw off your current encumbrances and join me by the fire in pursuit of more trivial conversation?"

Eustace's mind was consumed by the torment of a dawning revelation; that he wanted to spirit her away as his own Princess even as much as he wanted to set her on the throne of England in fulfillment of all his duties to the Emperor and the late Queen Katherine. So clever a diplomat was he that he had used her sense of duty and the pull of her unwavering faith to seduce her away from any romantic sentiments she might have towards him following their reckless imprudence. He was at once, loath to depart the thrill of her company, and crushed by guilt at his debased and opportunistic methods against her. When an image of her smiling demurely at him from underneath those thick eyelashes as she unpinned her dark hair in the glow of the firelight flitted across his mind's eye, he knew he could not trust himself to be alone with her again.

"I thank you, Lady Mary, you are most gracious, but I must return to court," he stated briskly, concentrating on the handle of his walking stick so as not to meet her eyes.

"Perhaps some other time," she said, trying to keep the bitter disappointment from her voice.

Certainly, the afternoon had taken its toll on them both. Mary rose wearily and waited patiently as Eustace stood with some difficulty to return with her to house. They walked in silence, each lost in a mire of burdensome thoughts.

"Good day, My Lady," he said when they reached the courtyard. He bowed in routine protocol.

"Excellency," Mary dismissed him somewhat distractedly and turned to meet Susan in the doorway.

Mary wordlessly handed her outer frockcoat, hat, and gloves to Susan and trudged up the stairs to her bedchamber. As usual, there would be no merry conversation, no one to divert her from plaguing doubts and weighty concerns. Having only her present dismal thoughts for company, she recovered her rosary from her desk, kneeled at the prie dieu, and prayed that God might grant her peace of mind.

Through a downstairs window, Susan watched as the much perturbed Imperial Ambassador ambled to meet his valet in the courtyard, and though she noted how he tugged at his doublet and collar, she could not know he sought beneath them that which was tugging at his heart.

**If you haven't already, check out CH. 1 for a brief author's note and leave a review if you feel so moved. Special thanks to SSLE for her generous support and encouragement!**


	4. Her Broken Harmony

**4~Her Broken Harmony**

His words tolled like a death knell in her mind.

"_I cannot love you_." The words tumbled over and over, clanging in time with the beat of the infernal drums that were keeping pace for the guard. Each syllable reverberated mercilessly against her skull behind her raw, swollen eyes. The sepulchral pallor spread across her dainty features this morning lay in stark contrast to the cloudless cerulean sky overhead and the lushly verdant English countryside before her.

"See how pleased they are to set eyes upon their King!" Over his shoulder came Henry's self satisfied shout to his party.

Half turning to mark the reactions of his entourage, he noticed with much annoyance that Mary alone seemed insufficiently impressed by the admiration of his gathering subjects. Immediately, he circled his horse back to fall in rein with her.

"Mary, do you not see how my people love their King, his angelic wife, and his much beloved daughter? You should be smiling at their veneration, though you look to be of sour disposition this morning." he chided. "Perhaps you are unwell?" he added, almost as an afterthought.

"I thank you for your concern, Your Majesty, but I am well indeed," Mary answered wanly; and not wishing to incite his displeasure, added quickly, "How right they are to give sincerest obeisance to you, their most gracious Sovereign." Her words seemed to mollify him.

Engrossed as she had been in turning those tortured syllables over in her mind, she had neglected to erect a façade of felicity to safeguard her tormented thoughts from such incursion. Now, granting her father a smile which did not even reach her eyes, she returned to her internal anguish.

It had only been a measure of hours since Susan had found her, blanched and lifeless, crumpled in a miserable heap on the floor of her chamber.

"My Lady! Are you ill? Tell me what has happened," Susan cried, for she had seen the Princess this way only once before, when she had received the news of her mother's death at Kimbolton Castle.

"He is gone," Mary had whispered soullessly…

…And the tragedy replayed itself before her eyes.

She saw herself in her rooms at Hunsdon amidst a flurry of activity; supervising her ladies as they packed her trunks for Whitehall, from whence she would embark on a great northern progress with her father the King and, much to her chagrin, his ninny of a wife. Mary eagerly awaited this journey in spite of Catherine Howard, because she knew many of the people to the north, having taken part in the ill-fated Pilgrimage of Grace, still held secretly to the true religion. She felt not only a duty, but also a deep desire to show her love and support of them for their fidelity to the holy Catholic faith; thus, these harried preparations filled her with delight.

But the tide of excitement ebbed as thoughts of Eustace bubbled up and called forth a familiar pang. While the frequency of these twinges had yet to abate during the passing months, her acceptance of them seemed to lessen their sting over time. He had not been back to Hunsdon since their orchard stroll in February, and it would seem that all was quiet in the political realm, for he had not sent one single missive. He had not even written to tell her of the gossip surrounding Catherine Howard's mistaken pregnancy and subsequent (and unfortunately temporary) fall from the King's favor as, most likely, he had assumed such news would reach her without his assistance.

Mary regretted the awkwardness of their last meeting. With so much left unsaid, her insecurities had all but suffocated her. She had waited anxiously for any opportunity of relief from her misgivings. Then when she realized it was his intention to stay away, disappointment melded with doubt, resulting in acute and unrelenting heartache. She needed to know Eustace thought no ill of her for her wayward behavior and that their congress had not been meaningless and ordinary, she had to see the truth in his eyes and feel the warmth of his hands—quite simply, she missed him.

As this latest wave passed, she returned to the task of keeping her emotional balance between the possibility of seeing him at Whitehall and the prospect of several more months on progress without the benefit of his presence. The following afternoon, she thanked God and His benevolence when she caught Eustace's eye outside of the Presence Chamber.

She knew he could not ignore her here and have such an incident go unnoticed in this den of vigilant vipers. Her heart fluttered like a candle in a draft and she felt both hot and cold at once as, upon seeing her, he made his way across the room. He greeted her with aloof professionalism, his face an unfathomable mask.

"Good day to you, My Lady," he said.

"Excellency, it has been too long," Mary admonished, "I thought perhaps that you were ill."

"Your Grace is kind to show concern for your servant. Be assured I have none but the usual complaints. I am pleased to know that you will accompany the King to the North," he said amiably.

"Yes, I am most honored that His Majesty wishes me to be a part of this important sojourn." Mary glowed with pride.

"Well then, I wish you a safe and pleasant journey, My Lady," and with a curt bow, he took leave of her.

Later, installed in her rooms, she stared dejectedly at the note on her writing desk:

Your Excellency,

Please come to my chambers at your convenience this evening, for I wish to speak with you before I depart tomorrow morning.

Unsure of what else to say, she signed, "Princess Mary," allowing the authority of her position to suggest to him that this was more than a friendly request. Then she called Susan.

Blotting and sealing the note, she said, "Please deliver this to the Imperial Ambassador."

"Shall I wait for a reply, Your Grace?" Susan asked.

"No, but I shall be expecting him this evening," Mary replied.

Susan looked on her with almost sisterly concern at this unusual request and, although Mary knew she need not explain herself, she added gently, "Please, Susan. I must speak with him."

Susan curtseyed, "As you wish, My Lady."

She returned forthwith, dismissed the other maids for the evening, and commenced a vigil of sorts with Mary, rearranging the trunks for the imminent departure in the morning until there came a soft knock on the door. Susan answered it and moved to admit the Imperial Ambassador, deftly slipping from the room and securing the door.

Mary and Eustace both stared silently for some time, each basking in the presence of the other in this intimate setting, the same place where they had made love so many months before. How changed everything was now, Mary marveled.

Suddenly, his mask firmly in place, Eustace said, "You wished to see me, Madam?"

"Excellency— Eustace, please. We must talk plainly with each other, we cannot deny what had happened," Mary commenced with sudden exasperation.

At her words, he seemed to collapse into himself, and she saw at once how haggard and tormented he was.

After a moment, she went on, "I see now you have despaired much as I have since we…since that time, but I do not want to persist in this manner without apologizing to you for my ill-befitting forwardness. I ask you not to think poorly of me, but to forgive my unfortunate youthful indiscretion and put it from your mind so that we might continue on as we once were, for I think of you as…" here she hesitated, "a friend; and as an advisor, I trust you above all others."

She paused, her courageous exertion having thoroughly gushed from her, and waited for a response from him. To her surprise and near amusement, Eustace seemed utterly confounded by her words. He moved in a discomfited stupor to the fireside and sank into an overstuffed armchair.

After taking a moment to collect himself, he began, "I apologize for having caused you such distress, My Lady, but it is I who must beg your forgiveness. You are a true Princess, the noblest and purest woman I have known since your mother, and it is always my pleasure to serve you," here Mary blushed at the sincerity of his words. "But, there can be no excuse for my reprehensible actions. God forgive the damnable cur that I am!" he exclaimed dropping his head to his hands.

So moved was she by his forlorn aspect and defeated posture, that she crossed in an instant to the chair and knelt before him. Stroking his hair, she soothed, "You mustn't say such things, Eustace, for you cannot know what you are to me, I—"

Otherworldly forces within and without her brought her hands to either side of his face and she placed the remainder of her words on his lips, discovering all the truths therein; until he ripped himself from her and she felt a pain as if her soul were being torn asunder.

"You cannot _deny_ your love for me!" she cried desperately at his retreating form.

He stopped, but did not turn to look at her. "No, Mary, I cannot _love_ you," came his broken reply, and then he was gone.

She felt the cold stones beneath her frame and all went dark…

"You do look a bit pale, Mary," the King said again, waking her from her torment.

"I am quite well, I assure you, though perhaps I am unused to such exercise—I have not your manly bearing," Mary simpered sweetly.

The King, satisfied by her answer, nodded and rode ahead rejoin the Queen. It seemed Eustace Chapuys was not the only one with a talent for obscuring one's true feelings.

**I know, I know—another angsty chapter, but I promise the scales will balance! Just remember, I gave you dessert in the first chapter (you can go read it again, if you want!), so now you have to eat your vegetables ;-) I've tried a few different storytelling techniques here and hope they are successful. For anyone missing the insight into poor Eustace Chapuys's mind, worry not, the next chapter is his!**

**Thank you to all who have submitted such lovely reviews, they continue to be invaluable to me!**


	5. His Sacred Tune  and Variations

**5~His Sacred Tune…and Variations**

Eustace's pensive sigh hissed though the stillness of his private apartments. The months during the King's progress had been fraught with growing unease, what with the death of the French Ambassador in Pavia, and the mounting tensions between the Emperor and the King of France. Now there were whispers that that fool Marillac was bringing forth a proposal of marriage between the Lady Mary and the Duke of Orleans, a move which would surely engender the Emperor's ire. But this latest news unsettled Eustace in a more personal way. These past months had weighed heavily on him for reasons unknown to any here but himself, and having naught to do with the Emperor or France. He was haunted by his last conversation with Mary.

So complete was his desolation on that night of their parting that he little recalled making his way back to his apartments, only that he dismissed his servants and sank, silent and pale, into a chair; clutching a worn linen talisman to his chest and seeking absolution in the moonlight. Fleming found him there the next morning with joints so swollen and stiff that the valet, scolding and clucking like a hen, had put him to bed for three days to recover.

During that time Eustace relived endlessly every nuance of his and Mary's last exchange. That kiss, the white-hot truth of her love for him, burned his lips with every recollection. In that moment he had known that he loved her too, but the volatile danger of such a love between them had frightened him to his very marrow. It was the instinct of self preservation which called forth the desperate strength he needed to tear himself from her that night. Her words over his cowardly retreat froze his spirit and shamed him to the core.

"_I cannot love you_," He had said, too fainthearted and abashed to even look at her. And in his mind, he had cried out, "I cannot—I may not—I must not! Can you not see it would be the death of us both? Though I am one more God-forsaken man in love, in this I might save you, my poor, sweet Lady!"

He had felt the loss of her with a grief so profound that Fleming and the other servants had tiptoed warily around him. Yes, he continued his duties and answered any and all calls of his office with his usual studied aplomb, but the heart had quite literally gone out of him. For days he plodded through a murky gloom of agony, performing one meaningless task after another in order to pass the time betwixt the death of his spirit and that of his enfeebled frame, but in every moment he thought of her; the silky softness of her skin on his, the bewitching scent of her hair, the light in the darkness in her eyes, the harmonious sounds of her sighs and the scorching pressure of her lips.

It was in these moments, these thoughts, that he found his salvation, for he lived only to relive them; and the more he relived them, the more he wanted to live. She _loved_ him, and already her love had saved him. What could he offer her in return? He could promise no rosy future, no easy escape, no overdue dream, but now he understood; though this love could well be the death of them, it most surely would be the life of them.

It was the glow of this realization that warmed him back into life, and he went about his tasks with a renewed vigor that confounded those around him. Eustace felt younger and stronger in body, arguing spiritedly with poor Fleming over not wanting to use his cane. His mind was sharper and diplomatic skills more acute, so much so that he very nearly looked forward to a war of rhetoric with the insufferable Merillac.

He awaited Mary's return in a state of anxious delirium, praying hourly that she would receive him even after his indefensible abandonment. Eustace believed, in spite of all reason to the contrary, that her imminent return, bringing with it a second chance to reciprocate her love, was heaven blessed; for surely such a love as this was a divine gift.

But now, just as his spirit soared at the prospect of their next encounter, this latest ill-timed measure by the French King pressed down upon him, a fresh and palpable threat to his newfound hope of happiness.

And then…she was back, the Progress concluded amidst whispers of the discovery of Catherine Howard's loose ways. Mary once again took up residence in Hunsdon, and following closely on the heels of her departure from court, the young Queen was confined to her chambers while Edward Seymour gathered evidence against her…at the King's behest. This most unexpected turn of events thrilled Eustace, for he recognized in it a most Providential purpose, a blatant opportunity to visit Lady Mary so very soon after her return from Yorkshire.

Would she see him, hear his testimony of heavenly love? He did not know, but the time for confession had come.

* * *

><p>Susan glanced out of the window and caught sight of their approach, unnoticed by her Lady who was so well engrossed in one of Sir Thomas More's works. She felt a flash of protective indignation when she recognized the Imperial Ambassador in the cart. Though he had not traveled on horseback due to his worsening affliction, she perceived a certain lightness in his careful movements—even with the cane. A look of jittery apprehension creased his face into lines that were a far cry from the deep furrows which had o'erspread his haggard visage on that terrifying night so many months ago when he burst from her Lady's chamber and rushed past her, melting away into the darkened corridor like some ghastly phantom.<p>

The sight of him now made her stomach tighten as she relived the crippling fear she had felt upon finding her Lady so still and pale on the floor. But the worst came when that stillness, frightening as it had been, gave way to an absolute heart-rending brokenness from which Susan thought no human spirit could mend. She had been witness to the death-in-life of this pitiable young woman, crushed by unbearable cruelty.

Morning after morning, wherever they stayed, Susan brought her Lady a cool cloth to press away the tear stains and smooth her pale cheeks. Mary tried to save her weeping for her solitary hours, which had increased more than Susan thought healthy; but often, even in the company of her ladies, a tear or two would escape silently and drop onto the unseen needlework or book she held in her lap.

Things had improved as they went farther north where more and more people of the "old religion" waved and cheered for the procession on the road. Mary seemed to absorb the love of these people into the vacant spaces in her heart made by the loss of the Ambassador. The love of the people revived her spirit enough to awaken her sense of duty at least, and she took to it with a dedication and single-mindedness of purpose that, in its intensity, was almost as unnerving as it was inspiring.

Susan could not forget the tingling elation she felt when her Lady spoke before the crowds gathered at Pontefract Castle,

_** "All shall be well. All manner of things shall be well, Benedictus Deus!"**_

In that moment Susan believed that this courageous young woman could bring about such a blessing with the will of her words alone—even His Majesty, the King seemed impressed, or at least amused by her remarks. But then, amid the swell of pride in her own heart and the hearty cheering of the crowd, Susan noted the flinty coldness in her Lady's eyes. Some vital cord within her had snapped and this love of duty, religion, and realm was a poor candle to warm a hearth left cold by a passionate fire extinguished—by the man who now approached the house.

Susan left her Lady alone to intercept the Ambassador in the entrance hall.

"Good day, my Lady Clarencieux, is Her Grace able to receive me?" Eustace inquired politely.

Susan, outraged by the audacity of such studied amiability replied in clipped tones, "I will see, Monsieur."

As a servant she had little choice but to show him in, though she fervently hoped the curtness of her bow conveyed her fierce intent to safeguard the Lady Mary from further abuse.

_** "My Lady? His Excellency is here," **_she called out, hoping Mary would turn him away, but she nodded her assent and Susan's heart was a heavy stone inside her chest as she left the two of them alone and took the place of discreet sentry outside the door.

* * *

><p>Here it was—Mary knew he would come to see her, as his position dictated, upon her return from the North, and she had vowed to be prepared for it. The progress had changed her, not at first, but eventually it had changed her. She had thought she would drown in her misery—she loved him, he did not return her love, any union between them was impossible. There is was: simple, ironclad, and desolate. But by now, Mary was used to heartbreak, and once again she counted her misfortunes: she had lost her mother, been disowned by her father, been made subservient to her bastard sister, been forced to forswear her religion, been denied countless opportunities for marriage, and now been forsaken in love.<p>

She recalled an earlier exchange with Eustace:

_**"Anything would please me, My Lady, which made you happy."**_

_** "I'm afraid I was not born for happiness, Excellency."**_

Yes, heartbreak, not happiness, seemed to be her lot in life, and since that life persisted, she resolved to set aside her emotions and whole-heartedly take on the duties of her birthright. There was something else the Progress had shown her, that there were still those who remembered what this realm had been, those who looked to her to save them from its amoral decline under the King's fickle tyranny; and as she no longer had any hope of love or happiness in her own right, she would live for the love of those people and focus solely on bestowing happiness upon them.

Now, determined to be civil and dispassionate toward "His Excellency," she braced herself for this first trial of will. She held her head in what she hoped was a most regal bearing, and even smiled as she greeted him,

_** "Eustace! Please, sit."**_

She lowered her head and bit her lip, silently berating herself for the slip in using his Christian name. Ah well, for all that had passed between them she supposed this was not a grievous sin, though she vowed not to do so again.

For his part, Eustace was too entranced by her invocation of his name to take note of her self-chastisement. He drank in the sight over her, plump and rosy from her journey through the countryside, like a man intoxicated by some exotic perfume.

_** "Thank you, Lady Mary, you are too gracious. I had to see you." **_

The words slipped from his lips as if drawn out by some gypsy enchantment. He suddenly hoped that she would interpret his unintended sigh of pleasure at seeing her again for gasp of pain against his ongoing battle with gout. He recovered himself and launched into the news that gave him reason to be here.

_**"There are many rumors at court and it seems the queen has been confined to her apartments."**_

_**"Why?" **_she asked, matching his straightforward manner. "Had to see me" indeed, she though wryly.

_**"Nobody knows, but the rumors speak of her misconduct."**_

_** "I knew it! I knew she was always a light young woman dedicated only to pleasure."**_ Gloating satisfaction hissed through Mary's veins, and she felt nearly alive again.

Eustace was taken aback by the harshness of her tone. _**"And the sad fact is, Lady Mary, that the Howards are a great Catholic family."**_

_** "No-Eustace, the sad fact is that Catherine Howard was never a good Catholic, nor ever a good wife, nor even less a Queen."**_

Something was wrong. Here before him sat his sweet Lady, whose melodious voice had captivated him with her siren song; but now every syllable, even his name, dripped with bitter arrogance. The acerbic coldness of this woman stupefied him. "Who is this venomous viper?"

Unthinking, he broke protocol and stood before she did, "I am surprised to hear you say such things, My Lady," he said guilelessly.

Torrents of rage welled up within Mary as she stood deliberately and leveled a frosty gaze at him, "and why should you be surprised, _Excellency_, for you yourself have shown me that not all of us are as we appear to be. Do you not make your living through dissembling and concealment?" She spat the words ruthlessly...

And they bit into him. Her furious sarcasm and the abhorrent look marring her features stung his senses. "You mustn't do this—," he pleaded.

A decisive "snap" echoed off the wood and marble as Mary slapped him across the face with all the might of her fury.

She glared menacingly at him while he held his tingling cheek and stared at the golden light that had reappeared in her eyes. The air between them crackled…

…And then she launched herself at him pounding his chest and screaming, "This is what you've made of me! You dare—I've lost—there's no—," and then she reached toward his face, her hands in grotesque claws.

Suddenly Eustace grabbed both of her wrists, held them firmly to his chest and met her flashing eyes with a look most inscrutable.

A moment later, his lips were bruising hers as he kissed her violently.

Though stunned at first, she responded with all due ferocity and battle of tongues ensued. Summarily, their hands were everywhere at once: his running along her graceful neck, pulling at her gown, squeezing her breast;, hers gripping his curls, clinging to his chest, and clawing at the buttons of his doublet.

They moved in a flurry of feverish activity to the heavy oak dining table, tearing, ripping, shredding anything that got in their way. Mary leaned back against the table pulling Eustace into her for another blistering kiss. He grabbed her leg and wrapped it around him as his hand ran up her thigh to the place he craved, the smoldering ember of her warmth. No, she was not completely frozen as he had feared. She looked hungrily at him, never taking her eyes from his as he practiced his ardent ministrations there.

Her fires effectively stoked, Mary nipped along his scratchy jaw line and murmured unfathomable sentiments into his ear, intermittently flicking her tongue in and out and grazing his earlobe with her teeth.

Eustace had now taken charge of her other leg so that Mary was balanced precariously against the edge of the study table, fastened to him with all of her limbs. If the swelling in his legs protested, it was ignored in favor of a more pointed inflammation, for with one powerful thrust, he seated himself fully within her. She squelched the cry of pain he forced from her by biting into his shoulder, and he plunged vigorously ahead with her fierce complicity. They vibrated with incandescent passion. One eternal instant later they cried out in unison as their bodies quaked and collapsed into each other.

The aftermath of this frenzied conflagration saw them soaked and steaming in a consolidated heap on the floor as their panting slowed. Eustace held Mary tightly, determined to show her he would never forsake her again, and she clung to him, her fury spent. Her hurt and bitterness had melted away—the fire in his heart had enveloped them both.

**Sorry for the delay in updating, this needed to marinate a while, but good things come to those who wait-this is the longest chapter yet! Hope you enjoy, and keep those reviews coming! Special Thanks to DD, my unofficial Beta Reader!  
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	6. Entr'acte

**6~Entr'acte**

It had been nearly a year. One year since the end of the northern progress. One year since Eustace had brought her news of Catherine Howard's criminal confinement. One year since they had…well, a year was a very long time.

She had come back to life in Eustace's arms that day, but in the hours following that rather vehement awakening, good sense had taken hold of them. Though they were both intoxicated by giddy delight in the shining knowledge of reciprocal love, this was a time for caution, not wayward folly. The King was restless, angry at having been made a fool of, and scandalized once again by his latest wife. Thus wounded, he now sought redress for his injuries in the violent punishment of the traitors he sensed around every corner. The most practiced members of her father's court were endeavoring to avoid the King's notice and subsequently, his displeasure. No, this not the time for further trespasses against His Majesty.

And so, they had stood awkwardly, reordering their clothes and thoughts until each started in,

"Mary, we mustn't be known to-"

"Eustace, you needn't worry that I would-"

They laughed awkwardly and lapsed back into contemplative silence. Eustace reached and took Mary's hands in his, rubbing his thumbs lightly across her dainty fingers.

There will be a time for us, " he began with conviction.

"—Though that time is not now." She finished for him, smiling sadly. Surrendering happiness was a well-rehearsed role. She placed a hand to his cheek, "But I will think of you, and pray for you, and _love_ you until we meet again."

They indulged in a kiss so full of the bitter sweetness of love and loss, and stood for a moment in each other's arms, praying that this embrace would not be their last. Then Eustace took his leave of Mary saying, "I am ever your servant, My Lady."

In the days and weeks that followed, Sir Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, together with the Council had dug to the bottom of the pot at the King's request. When the evidence of the title-stripped Lady Catherine Howard's adultery was given to His Majesty, his answer had been as swift and ruthless as the bitter winds sweeping London that February. Even that pitiable creature, the lunatic Lady Rochford, had met with the executioner.

Mary shivered a bit remembering the accounts she'd heard—the way poor Lady Rochford had begged the King's pardon in a moment of clarity at the end, how Catherine had publically wished herself Culpepper's wife rather than Queen to His Majesty. The latter thought gave Mary pause, for in it she found a rather startling and altogether unwelcome kinship with the woman. Catherine Howard had been given all manner of things and squandered them all in frivolity and childishness, but the thing she cried out for as she surrendered to her fate was a dream of happiness with the man she loved. Mary, the ever poised and deferential daughter, had been denied nearly all that had been given Catherine. Should she herself ever be granted a chance at sovereignty, Mary knew she would be a far better Queen to England than any Howard; and yet, she felt a modicum of pity for this young girl who died the result of a misplaced love. Brushing the idea away, she closed her eyes to better concentrate on the warmth of the sunlight from where she lay on a thick rug spread over the garden green under what was perhaps the last of the summer skies this year.

She and Elizabeth had come here to wile away the hours. Mary had played her lute while her sister danced among the hedges. Elizabeth was a talented dancer, and Mary had been captivated by the way the sunlight glinted off of her sister's copper hair. Those sylphlike movements and eyes flickering with clever mischief would one day soon enchant many a man at court, Mary mused. Eventually they had collapsed onto this very rug and let the wispy clouds do the dancing as they paraded gaily across the sky. Giggling as they had at the cloud-animals traipsing by, the elder sister reflected upon how exactly the younger's hearty laugh matched their father's. True, these were girlish pastimes, but Mary had sensed in Elizabeth a need for some companionship following the execution of the Lady Catherine Howard.

Her misguided sister had been rather fond of that unfortunate young woman. Perhaps it was her connection with the Boleyn family that so attracted Elizabeth, for she might naturally have sought some tie to her mother; though, Mary wryly suspected it was more due to their closeness in age. Regardless, Elizabeth had become withdrawn and overly contemplative following Catherine's death, and Mary was eager to elicit her sister's more customary vitality. Inevitably however, Elizabeth had tired of the game and withdrawn to the house, most likely to one of several books she was reading at any given time.

Hence, Mary lay in the garden alone, listening to the lazy hum of the insects and drinking in the soft scents of the dahlias and asters. The mild breeze rustled through the silky grasses, played in her unpinned curls, and lulled her in and out of various reflections.

It had been in most ways a quiet year, one in which Mary found herself blessedly contented so much of the time. After the trials and executions, life resumed its quiet balance, as it is wont to do. The court seemed resolved by now to the fits of its sovereign, and merely waited with scant curiosity for his next move. The King's advancing age had become more pronounced following the dissolution of his latest marriage, as even he seemed to grow weary of the years of turmoil in the realm.

In contrast, Mary had flourished in this settled environment, enjoying more of her father's attention these past months by dutifully acting as hostess at court in the absence of a consort. She glowed in the light of his appreciation and it pleased her that she could be both of service and a credit to her father as she had always hoped to be. Only one ache pervaded the sinews of her mind, body, and spirit—she had not seen or heard from Eustace these many months.

* * *

><p>"<em>I know you have little care for the Howard woman, but you would have wept in Christian love of the desperate child who threw herself at the King's feet begging for mercy this day. I, like so many others, was startled when she ran through the gathering hall toward his private chapel. I believe, though His Majesty did not acknowledge the girl, he was affected by her pleas. Perhaps he truly loved her and has been deeply injured by her betrayal. Is his love any more misfortunate than mine for you? Though I trust you will never betray me, our love is like as dangerous if God does not smile on us…"<em>

"_I am haunted by the final words of the Lady Catherine Howard. What madness to reject her former husband the King, even at the hour of her death in favor of her adulterous love of Culpepper! Her sins were grievous by heavenly law, and yet surely only the deepest bond of love could elicit such an outburst. Is her love then as damnable as her trespasses? She is said to have had no confessor, but is our love of the Lord God sufficient to secure His grace upon our love of each other? I cannot know, but know this—I will cry out for you even upon my death…"_

"_My darling, it has been too long since I held you to my breast and felt your heart beat in tune with mine. Memories and dreams will not suffice a man thirsting for your presence, but I cling to them like blessed drops of water in a desert…"_

"_My thoughts are always of you, my darling, my own. I look to the strength and surety of your faith, both in God and in us, to nurture a dream…"_

"_Such silence in the realm makes me restless! If only there were news to bring to you so that I might drown my soul in your eyes, dearest. Damn all those in your gracious presence with news of it to tell me. Such accounts of you overwhelm me with pride and an agonizing desire to bask in such gentility myself! Alas, an innocent meeting with you would test all my powers of deception, and silent times are perhaps the most dangerous for one's heightened senses perceive even that which seems not to be there"_

Page after page the letters continued. Eustace was after all a man of records, and jeopardous as he knew these particular records to be, he could not break the long established habit even now. He endeavored to keep his entries as vague as possible, even though the missives were carefully hidden away. Common sense dictated that, compelled as he was to write them, he should afterward burn them. Many a night alone in his rooms he had stared in conflict at the hungry flames of the hearth, and yet he could not surrender his treasures to them. These words to Mary were all that he had of her save memories and dreams. He had a most fearful notion that all truth of their love would be burned up with the parchment, leaving nothing but cold ash, dead embers, and hollowness enough to drive him mad. And so, here he sat day after day, flipping through these perilous words in solitary hours and willing his thoughts to fly to her whom he loved.

Engaged as he was, he paid little heed to Fleming chattering on as he went about his daily inspection and rectification of the Ambassador's rooms,

"…should take advantage of this fine day to move your joints about the garden lest you fall abed with another attack of gout…know how you find anything on this writing table…when you inform the Emperor of this new Act of Succession the court is whispering about…"

"What Act, Fleming?" Eustace asked with sudden interest.

The valet swelled with importance at knowing more than his master, "From the gossip, it seems His Majesty is re-claiming his daughters—"

Any further words were lost over Eustace's shoulder as he quit the chamber in pursuit of an official accounting of this new Act of Succession. God willing, tonight he would write another letter to Mary; and this time it would reach her…even if he had to deliver it himself.

* * *

><p>Mary's steps as she hastened through the corridors were feather-light, now that years of doubt and heartache had been lifted from her.<p>

She had received an official message from the Imperial Ambassador this morning while she dressed. It was with no small amount of anxiety that she had torn open the seal, for what would have compelled him to write her now given his silence these many months? To her utter astonishment, were the news contained therein not joyous enough, the precious missive further stated that His Excellency, _"would be pleased to visit within the week to explain the details."_ So much unexpected happiness was too much to bear!

At last assured of her father's love, Mary, clad in her dressing gown, now went immediately to share this joyous news calling, _**"Elizabeth? Elizabeth! Are you dressed?"**_

_** "Not quite, I was reading." **_Elizabeth answered, sounding slightly perturbed.

Smiling as her sister's predicable little ways, Mary called her over. _**"Come and sit, I have some news." **_

Elizabeth did as she was bid. Seated on the bed before her older sister with only the mildest interest, she asked, _**"Mary, what is it?" **_

The words gushed forth from Mary's lips like water from a spring, tumbling over themselves. _**"I just heard, by Act of Parliament, you and I are both restored to the Succession, after Edward and his heirs of course, but—The King himself must have commanded this." **_Seeing her sister's face had fallen, she queried, "_**Are you not pleased, Elizabeth? Think what this means!"**_

"_**Yes Mary, if you are pleased, then so am I," **_she smiled with wan compliance.

Mary was momentarily bewildered by her sister's uncharacteristically slow comprehension of these tidings. Well, such unexpected revelations had quite overwhelmed her at first as well. Patiently, she continued, _**"It means that the King loves both of us."**_

"_**And that you may be Queen someday." **_Ah! There was the intellect she recognized.

"_**And you, Queen Elizabeth." **_ At this she curtseyed in mock deference to her "Queen," and was pleased to draw from her sister a brief but earnest smile. The young girl's face then fell to more familiar lines of concentration, but Mary read a note of worry there as well. _** Elizabeth, what's wrong?"**_

Elizabeth began with utmost seriousness,_** "Because of what happened, to Queen Catherine, I have made my mind up." **_

Overlooking the misuse of title for Elizabeth's sake, she asked, _**"In what?"**_

"_**As God is my witness, I shall never marry, never." **_The words came forth like a most solemn oath.

Though she knew Elizabeth to be much shaken by Catherine Howard's death, Mary was surprised by so sudden and unwavering an avowal. Of course they would marry! They would be promised to whichever princes would bring the most power and wealth to their father and England. But wait—had not Mary been passed around and over in such bargains for years? Though here she was, currently under contract to no man. On the heels of this realization came another: her reinstatement to the Succession might change her position; and consequently, her visibility at court. What a dangerous position for a woman engaging in an illicit relationship.

It was at this point that thoughts of Eustace gained central ground in her mind, and she found herself heartily ashamed that she had all but forgotten him in the excitement of the crown. Had she found herself in the midst of war between ambition and duty, and love and happiness? Where would she land in such a conflict? Familiar resentment overtook these deep concerns at the thought of marriage. She had been a marriage pawn in many an unrealized contract- all for a father who had, for most of her life, not even acknowledged her as his daughter. Then, just as she found herself bitterly resigned to abandonment and probable spinsterhood, she had the sought the company of and fallen in love with a man who would never be a prospect for marriage because of that very same father. Marriage with Eustace was absolutely impossible!

And here the forbidden fruit of an idea took root, for Mary knew with all certainty, that the thing she most craved was marriage with Eustace. Like Catherine Howard for Thomas Culpepper, like her own father for Anne Boleyn; she, Mary Tudor, newly restored Princess and heiress to the throne of England, wanted true fulfillment and recognition of the love she bore for Imperial Ambassador Eustace Chapuys through holy matrimony.

**Greetings All! I know it's been a while, but I had to revisit some plot points after making a gross miscalculation in the timing of the storyline. All that's just fancy for I made a mistake and it's taken a while to fix it. It's important to me that my story seem plausible within the storyline of the show...until such time as I decide to deviate from their plan...**

**Though this chapter is not quite action-packed, I've gotten the better part of the next one written. Happy New Year and stay tuned!**


	7. Secret Symphony

**7~Secret Symphony**

Much to his dismay, Eustace was not able to visit Mary within the week as planned; for upon dispatching his letter to her, he had been given one of his own from his Master, the Emperor. He had immediately requested an audience with the King as commanded. The Emperor was once again at war with France now that King Francis had formed an Alliance with the Turk, and was asking Eustace to proffer friendship on his behalf to Henry in order to secure his own territories and, indeed, the whole of Europe. How His Majesty King Henry's eyes has glistened with greed at the Emperor's promise of the restoration of Aquitaine to England as a measure of gratitude.

Though pleased to once again be of service in furthering his Master's aims in England, Eustace worried that, should this alliance indeed be formed, he and Mary would have to abstain from each other indefinitely. There would simply be too much attention placed on him—not to mention the amount of diplomatic work to be done would leave him little time for her. For how could he, with single-mindedness of purpose, devote himself both to her and to his diplomatic charges?

Eustace found himself with ample time to mull these conflicts over since; frustrating as had been, after reporting back to the Emperor of his meeting with the King and of the Act of Succession, he had resolved himself to watch and wait for either player to make the next move. After only a few weeks of silence on all fronts, frustration of a different kind won out and, reasoning that all other court matters remained settled, he decided he could afford a long-overdue visit with his Princess. So, on a brittle morning in early November, Eustace called to Fleming to prepare him for the ride to Hunsdon.

* * *

><p>Every day for a week, Mary had waited upon tightly strung nerves for any hint of Eustace's arrival. Her moods were fitful and dynamic; one moment she floated about in distracted felicity, the next she brooded over some deep concern. Susan, suspecting the reasons for her Mistress's anticipation, did her best to keep the other servants away lest they become suspicious. Elizabeth was more difficult, but if the girl took note of her sister's anticipation, Susan hoped she attributed it to something having to do with this Act of Succession Mary had explained to her. For her part, Mary found all this waiting maddening, and after a week or more without word or sign of him, she was almost relieved to fall back into her practiced routine. Thus, she was considerably more composed, embroidering by the soft morning light, when his arrival was announced.<p>

Susan showed the Ambassador in just as she had over a year ago. Diligently, she watched as he and Mary stood silently for several moments, each taking in the presence of the other. The maid discreetly broke the spell asking, "Shall I bring some refreshment, my Lady?" She was wary of leaving these two alone just yet given their last encounter.

"Yes, if you please, Susan," Mary said as she turned toward the window and pressed a hand to her cheek.

Eustace thought her stunning, bathed as she was in pale sunlight and framed before a great window with a prospect of the garden. Since they had to expect the imminent arrival of servants bearing the tea service, he began as always with cordial formality.

"Good day to you, _Princess_ Mary. It is my honor to greet you thus this day." Eustace smiled as she dipped her head slightly to disguise the blush coloring her cheeks. The effect made her even lovelier. "Your Grace must forgive me for not coming to see you as quickly as I promised."

Mary smiled coquettishly up at him from under her lashes. "It is no matter, Sir, for twice now you have brought me good news this time of year. Your visits are most welcome, my _dear friend_." She paused a moment now that the small ale and biscuits were served and inclined her head to dismiss Susan. "And now, Excellency, would you kindly explain to me all that you know of this new Act of Succession?" she asked as Susan closed the door behind her. Their polite façade collapsed with the soft click of the latch as they fell into a more sincere greeting.

"My own Princess!" His exclamation was muffled by her kisses, and he found he could not hold her tight enough.

"My mind will not believe what my heart says is true, that you are here, my darling!" Her tears sparkled on both their cheeks. "Come, there is much to discuss."

One arm about her waist and the other on his cane, Eustace followed her to sit by the hearth. His heart ached to temper their blithe reunion with seriousness, but as always, there was so little time. He began, "There is greater news to accompany that of your restoration to the succession, Mary. I believe that His Majesty is considering a new treaty with my Master against the French, so it would seem that both our fortunes have turned at last, Benedictus Deus." They crossed themselves in a moment of humble thanksgiving. "The only concern in this tide of good favor is that we both will become much more visible at court." Mary tried to interrupt but he stopped her saying, "Please, let me say this. I cannot do this anymore." At this, she looked positively stricken, but Eustace continued. "Living apart from you with the knowledge that we love has been more torturous than any hell I could imagine should God condemn me." The words came faster now following this admission. "Though it be treason and death for me and, God forgive me, endanger you my dearest treasure; I must either love you and brave our chances, or quit this realm forever. I swear that I will forfeit my life to save yours should there be—"

"Shh. Peace, Love." Mary placed her fingers to his lips and further sealed them with a kiss. "I am ever yours and will stand with you on any traitor's block. I was afraid, given our risen positions that you intended to forsake me, even against our love, for fear of this devious court." Marking his resumed composure courtesy of her calmative measures, she plowed ahead before she lost her nerve. "Eustace, I have come to a realization in these many weeks since receiving your letter. I told you once that I was not meant for happiness. For so long I have been passed around in contracts, rejected by one man after another. I thought I had contented myself to travel this world alone, but in those moments when we first…I knew at once the love which had been denied me and began to crave it anew. Now I recognize that by happiness, I mean to seek fulfillment of love in the holy sacrament of marriage. Oh Eustace! I wish to belong to you in all things," she cried fervently, "for I am as richly poor in love as was even Catherine Howard, God rest her soul." She laughed nervously and waited for him to respond, though he sat inanimately with mouth agape.

"I do not…what to say?" He grasped for words which had all forsaken him. "It is impossible!" There, a thought that stuck. "How could we even accomplish it, especially now as things are?"

Her lip trembled and tears pooled in her darkening eyes. "We neither are strangers to courtly scandal. Surely we can find a way!" She cast about desperately.

"Is that what you wish me to make of you—a scandal? No, Mary, I cannot!"

She tore away from him and paced mad circles about the room. "I care not how it is done, only that in the end I may call you Husband!"

He stood with difficulty and struggled toward her. "Mary, please! Listen to reason, I—"

She wheeled around to face him, upon which time her frustration immediately collapsed. She took a quavering breath and very quietly said, "What can it matter what is said about us here, for we know the truth. God has made us each the salvation of the other, and we have accepted this love as His divine gift to us." She gripped his shoulders. "And even if all this earth be against us, Eustace, we will _still _find heaven with His help."

Eustace turned from her and slowly made his way to an armchair in total consternation. Mary followed and stood but a pace away from where he sat. She was right. Somehow or other, this must be done, for God had ordained it. With a breath and a prayer he looked to her and asked, "Then, Princess Mary, will you accept this humbled man as your husband?"

Haltingly releasing her breath she sank, weeping, at his feet—overcome by every positive emotion. Then, rising up on her knees and taking his chin in her hand, she whispered, "My darling, here is your answer," and kissed him full upon the mouth.

Eustace pulled her up onto his lap as their kisses became more ferocious, and soon it appeared this besieged room might once again be christened by their...fervor. This is not right, his mind screamed, for I love her too well! "Mary. _Mary_, Mary!" Fighting for self-control with each intonation of her name, he halted her caresses and locked eyes with her. "I _must_ leave you now; for if I stay, I fear we will both be lost. Falling victim to our passions has heretofore served us ill since we were not man and wife. Now that we are to be wed, let all be done properly in God's eyes," he finished, panting.

Mary, cheeks flushed and bosom heaving, rose from him. He was right—their dream of heaven was too near to give way to human weakness. Holding out a hand to him, she bid, "Go then, to discover the day, the _hour_ when I may become your wife."

Eustace stood taking her proffered hand and saying, "I will send word to you when all is prepared." Then with one final kiss, he took his leave of her and departed.

* * *

><p>Mary felt his eyes on her from the edge of the gallery as she stood before the crowd, receiving visitors on the King's behalf at this court Christmas celebration. She felt wholly regal in her peerless gown of chartreuse taffeta and bodice exquisitely embroidered with a jeweled peacock. After giving her earnest wishes to the Lady Lattimore for the restoration of health for her husband, she adopted a gracious smile to welcome the next guest, His Excellency the French Ambassador. Merillac greeted her purposefully, declaring her his opinion of the perfect bride for the Duke d'Orlean. Though her response was appropriately demure, she could not conceal a dazzling smile and slight giggle at his mention of the word, "bride." Quickly regaining her poise, she responded to his promise to send her the Duke's portrait with a knowing smile, and while His Excellency bowed in leave-taking, glanced toward another face in the hall.<p>

* * *

><p>In a small church near to the King's festive court, a woman stood in a deserted alcove known (and avoided) by the nobility as a "Beggar's Chapel." Here, and in corners like it, the poorest penitents would come to sit in scarred pews and pray for mercy from their suffering; or else try to been seen by the passing nobility in the hopes of receiving alms. However this woman, still too well dressed in her plainest frock and veil, prayed she would be seen by no one. She had put out all but two of the prayer candles beneath the battered crucifix, asking with each puff of smoke God's forgiveness and mercy for her actions this night. She welcomed the darkness and the heavy silence that enclosed her as she waited.<p>

The whisper of footsteps against the stones was barely perceptible to her ear, and yet sent shimmering vibrations through her spine to her heart. Her nerves hummed for an instant, and then the shadows wrapped their arms around her and placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

"You are here," she breathed, relaxing instantly into his embrace.

"Forever," he replied.

There was no priest, neither were there witnesses. The risk of betrayal was too great. So here they stood holding onto each other at the edge of a great precipice. The man took a step back and looked solemnly at the woman. "_This_ is our time," he said.

Taking her hands in his, he looked up at the crucifix and then at his bride; and smiling said, "I take you as my wife. I swear before God to love, honor, and protect you as long as we both shall live. This is my sacred vow."

He took her right hand, marveling at its steadiness, and slipped onto her third finger a band of ancient gold. "This ring is cast from the gold in a rosary passed down in my family for generations. This is the seal of my bond with you and with God, may He be merciful on us both in our love for each other and for Him."

The woman kissed each of his palms, clasped his left hand to her heart, and placed her left hand on his chest saying, "I take you as my husband. I swear before God to love, honor, and protect you as long as we both shall live. This is my sacred vow.

She reached up to her veil and pulled out a pearl tipped hairpin. "This is a pearl taken from a hood given to me by my mother, for whom you were a tireless servant and faithful friend. I give it to you now as a sign of my service and fidelity to you, my husband. "

She then worked the pin into the hemming on the inside of his doublet so that it would rest near his heart. No one would see it unless he knew it was there, just as no one would notice the gold band on her finger, ironically concealed beneath a heavy onyx ring her father had given her.

Silently, they took the flames from the two remaining candles and joined them together at the feet of their savior. Their private ceremony thus concluded, the groom took his bride in his arms and claimed her with his lips. She smiled against his mouth and melted into him.

* * *

><p>It had been less than an hour and already he was breaking their vow, not the vow they had spoken aloud in the Beggar's Chapel, but the silent promise made that for this one night they would safeguard the precious present from the frightening uncertainty of their now communal future.<p>

Sitting alone on the edge of this marriage bed in his chemise, Eustace couldn't help himself. He was a diplomat; he planned. He was a humanist; he reasoned. And now, he was an optimist. We are as safe as we can be, he thought. I began my career in the church and many still think me a cleric; therefore, they would not expect me to marry. The King seems to have once again forgotten his daughter as a political pawn for the moment and, after the unfortunate end to his most recent wife, seems quite put off of the idea of marriage in general. No one witnessed our ceremony, it was not even presided over by a priest—God forgive us. So long as we are careful in our pursuits, we will be safe. Well, that was optimism to the point of foolishness. They would be discovered, the truth would out, but here in this place he could pretend that they belonged to no one save themselves.

Engaged thus in self-interrogation, he heard not the creak of the heavy chamber door, but did register a shifting shadow in the room and a draft from the dressing room. When he turned, he saw his young bride standing before the hearth, every curve of her figure illuminated through her delicate nightdress by the glow of the firelight. So long as he lived he would never forget her loveliness in this moment. Mary stood quiet and fragile, eyes slightly downcast and fingers girlishly twining the fringes of her hair at the end of the long plait over her shoulder.

"Vieni, amata bene," he murmured.

He held his hand out to her and she drifted to him, her bare feet sinking into the carpet at the bedside. She stood there contemplating him a moment with a look full of sincerest bewilderment.

"I have a husband," she said.

A hearty laugh and then, "Yes, my darling. This is the truth, but you seem surprised."

She loved the starry brightness of his eyes and the crinkled lines around his them when he laughed. She had so rarely seen him laugh, but now she imagined her delight in this vision would never diminish.

"I have dreamt of becoming a wife, imagined it, awaited it, and even planned it, but here I am, a wife, YOUR wife and I can barely conceive of it," she said. "Surely I do not deserve such happiness. I cannot comprehend it."

Eustace pulled her to sit beside him on the bed, wrapping both arms around her waist and resting his forehead to hers. "Understand this, Tesoro: I am your husband and you are my wife. Our happiness is blessed by God, and I will protect both it and you until my dying breath."

Mary turned to look at him and reached a hand to his cheek, softly stroking his bearded jaw line. Slowly, she traced the outline of his smiling lips with her fingers and he lightly kissed her fingertips. Then Mary kissed her husband. Their first kiss as man and wife had been profound but chaste out of respect for their sacred surroundings. This kiss however, betrayed every ounce of anticipation for the passionate consummation of their spoken marriage vow, and they sank together into the bed. Prior to this evening, their physical joining had been fraught with desperate sadness or furious lust and fettered by guilt and fear. But tonight, in these few cherished hours, they were safe. Uncertainties were swept away along with their dressing clothes as they set about a fervent worship of each other beneath a blessed moonfall.

Mary folded herself into the sanctuary of his arms, for nowhere else had she found absolute peace. Her hands traveled the expanse of his chest and length of his torso, and all the while her lips bruised in the fathoms of his devouring kisses.

Eustace thought his wife some heavenly creature hovering over him, for her delicate skin glowed golden in the firelight. He had to touch her to know she was real, and the more he touched her with his hands, his lips, the more alive he felt. Reaching a hand to her thick braid, he helped her loosen the strands until they fell like the folds of a velvet curtain across his chest.

Tongues, fingers, limbs twined all together until neither lover could tell one from the other. Time held its breath while sweetness too tender to be written spun a web of harmony about them; and when one soul cried out, the other answered as if to itself, for indeed they were one.

**Our lovers find happiness together at last, but will they "Sink or Swim?"-I don't even now yet!**

**Enjoy this rush of inspiration folks, but don't get used to it—such momentum is difficult to sustain! Though, your reviews are that which fan the flame! ;-D**

**PS-the generous use of alliteration and assonance is courtesy of my niece, a great lover of Dr. Seuss, with whom I spent the holidays…**


	8. Of One Accord

**8~Of One Accord **

Mary's eyes fluttered open to that dim light which precedes the dawn. She lay on her back with two arms draped across her middle; one hers, the other belonging to her husband who breathed in the depths of somnolence beside her. For some time she watched him sleep, remembering the first time she had awoken to see this peaceful visage. Though the proof lay before her, Mary still could not comprehend the journey that had brought them here. She touched him gently as a means of reassuring herself that they were, in fact, here in this place together. Her light fingers whispered across his lips and along his cheek, traced his neck and shoulder, came to rest over his heart, and then trailed downward.

It seemed that marital congress had rendered her highly confident and more than a bit saucy this morning. Finding what she sought, she began to stroke him into consciousness. Though his face remained unperturbed by waking cares, this part of him responded to his wife's ministrations. Having announced her intentions to his person, Mary snaked a leg over his thighs and gently stretched herself over him. Rocking slowly, soothingly, she smoothed an errant curl from his forehead and replaced it with a kiss.

The kisses that followed graced his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, the lobes of his ears, and the curve of his jaw. She kissed his lips and thought she tasted upon them a wisp of a smile. Those lips parted as his tongue greeted hers with the news that he had indeed awoken. Her eyes spoke to him and his answered, taking on greater intensity as he neared fulfillment. She hugged his body closer and nuzzled his neck, hearing him breathe a lusty "Mary!" into her ear as his release became part of her. With one leg still draped across him, she pulled him onto his side facing her and snuggled close to the warmth of his chest. He sighed in drowsy contentment and kissed the top of her head.

When speech seemed appropriate, he said, "What a genial awakening, my darling wife."

Though she could not see his face, she felt the vibrations in his chest and heard the smile in his voice. "It is a wife's duty to be both kind and useful to her husband, is it not, My Lord?" she simpered.

Though much discussion had been made on the subject of their differing ranks, Eustace's heart swelled at this jesting subservience. He was after all a man like any other; and while he knew himself to be falling victim to male pride, he was gratified by the gesture, however mockingly made.

Putting a hand under her chin so that he could see her coquettish smile, he said to her, "I will be anything you wish me to be, Tesoro, but did we not decide that this was to be a marriage of equals?"

Rather than waiting for her answer, he rolled her onto her back, grinning mischievously. He slid down in the bed until that dainty leg, which previously had been wrapped about his waist, was draped over his shoulder. The bemused expression on Mary's face soon gave way to one of ecstasy as she learned just how eloquent His Excellency, the Imperial Ambassador's tongue could be.

On the horizon, the sunrise burst into rosy gold and fiery orange. However, so glorious an event passed unnoticed by the lovers, overshadowed as it was by a very different glow. Mary lay with her spine curved against her husband's chest, clasping the arms which encircled her. She was glad he could not see her face when she inquired as to the nature of what had just transpired between them.

"That, my Darling, is one thing for which we can thank the French!" he exclaimed, his hearty laughter finding harmony with her giggling as they tussled beneath the sheets.

It was at that very playful moment that Fleming burst in with a breakfast tray. "I must say 'Good Day, Master,' for you have slept away the morning. I have sent a boy for hot wrappings since I suppose you mean to nurse your gout abed today." He set the tray on Eustace's desk and turned to inquire, "Have you a great many pains?"

Eustace sat deflated, balancing surprise and frustration. Mary attempted desperately to gather her dignity and her nightdress beneath the coverlet. Fleming stood silent as a startled rabbit, gaping at his Master.

"I am…well, Fleming. Thank you, but I require rest and _privacy_." Eustace hoped his answer sounded firmer than it felt. His mind beat wildly. Had Fleming seen Mary- recognized her? Panic gave way to defensive indignation. What right had a servant to suppose anything about his Master? His countenance settled into stern lines as he opened his mouth to utter a reprimand.

But before the words could form themselves on his tongue, knocking was heard at both the servant's stair entry and the main chamber door. Fleming's eyes widened as he saw a woman slide from beneath his Master's linens and scamper into the stool closet. No sooner had she secreted herself within than did his Master, seeming most in control of the situation, call out "Come!" to the servant's door while simultaneously gesturing for Fleming to answer the other door.

Compulsively doing as he was bid, he greeted the visitor, _**"Your Grace."**_

_**"I need to speak to your Master."**_ It was the voice of Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk.

From her hiding place, Mary strained to hear his words over the pounding of her heart. His businesslike manner carried the same undertone of weariness Mary had heard in their conversation the day before. This man had been a close friend of her father's for nearly the whole of his reign, and yet Charles seemed affected and changed by choices he had made, whereas he own father did not.

A very flustered Fleming sputtered in protest. _**"Alas Your Grace, my Master is in bed with gout and in the greatest agony."**_

_** "No, no!"**_ Eustace called out from the bed, quickly shooing away the boy with the warming wraps. _**"Show His Grace in, by all means,"**_ he commanded, jerking the bedclothes around him. It would not do for the Duke to see evidence of two people in this bed_**. "Your Grace must forgive me," **_he said in mock embarrassment.

The Duke appeared first to notice and then most purposefully to disregard both the Ambassador's disheveled appearance and his sincere awkwardness. _**"Of course…I have brought something for you."**_ He was all seriousness as he presented Eustace with a rolled document.

Eustace examined it carefully, for one need always be on his guard for plots and conspiracies in this treacherous kingdom. _**"May I ask its import?"**_

_** "It contains the outlines for a secret treaty between our Masters."**_ Suffolk began gravely. _**"The recent seizures of English merchant ships in the French ports, and the French king's new amity with the Turks are the final straw." **_

Eustace nodded in agreement and continued poring over the document. It was indeed official.

Suffolk continued,_** "King Henry promises to support the Emperor whenever he is called upon to do so. He also promises to invade France in conjunction with the Emperor's armies."**_

For several moments, Eustace did nothing but stare at the Duke and the document. He could scarcely believe this turn of events. Yes, he had met with the King to offer his Master's proposal for an alliance. He had been pleased to see the Tudor's greed ignite at the mention of regaining Acquitaine, but certainly one could never be sure of this King now. After so many years of discord and upset between the Emperor and the King, could they finally be reunited in peace? And against the perfidy of the loathsome French?! Here was another inconceivable miracle that could only come from God.

Crossing himself fervently, Eustace said, _**"Your Grace could not have made me happier if you had brought me a cure for gout!" **_They shared an instant of conspiratorial joviality. Then Eustace continued with greatest solemnity befitting so important a proposal, _**"I will make sure this is delivered to the Emperor immediately, and you can be sure he will receive it with the very greatest pleasure."**_

Suffolk bowed, his duty fulfilled, and took leave of the Ambassador. Eustace continued to pore over the treaty proposal in bewildered amazement. How long would he have remained in such stupor, attempting to draft a letter to the Emperor from his poor confounded head, had Mary not crept from her hiding place to seat herself beside him on the bed and placed her already proprietary hand on his knee? Immediately he felt a stab of guilt for all but forgetting God's other inconceivable miracle in the woman at his side.

"This changes everything," she said and Eustace could have slain the world and its cruelties which had encumbered her with that resigned tone of deadened practicality.

He took her hand, kissed the ring he had so recently placed upon it and said, "Not everything, Tesoro…for the promises we made in the darkness will not fade away like dreams before this new day. _You and I will be together in whatever time we have.*_"

His words restored Mary's weakened resolve, and she responded with kiss full of fortitude and devotion that utterly sealed every commitment made between them. It was perhaps a lesser miracle of God that the rapturous newlyweds even registered the quiet tapping at the servant staircase door before a consummation of this renewed commitment could occur.

Susan called in a hoarse whisper, "My Lady! Please, I MUST get you back to your chamber lest your ladies arrive for Morning Prayer and find you missing!"

It had been necessary, not to mention a great wish of Mary's, to confide much in her dearest Lady Clarencieux. These revelations came as no great surprise to Susan save for her Lady's request for aid in facilitating an intimate meeting with the Imperial Ambassador in the _palace at Christmastide_. She had of course agreed to help. After all, it was not her place to questions her Lady's decisions, but Susan could not ignore the growing dark, heavy foreboding she felt. Besides being of help to her Lady, there was naught to do but worry, and worry she did.

Amidst several frantic, parting kisses, Eustace said, "Go quickly…my dear…I must… write to the Emperor…"

"I hate to leave, knowing that I will be so near to you, yet so far away from your embrace," Mary said departing from him. "Please God it will not be long before I can hold you again." She gave him one last look of longing and slipped through the door."

"Amen," he replied to her vanished form, and he crossed himself once more before rising from his marriage bed to begin the new day's work.

**Please forgive the LONG delay. I hope you will think this one worth the wait!**

***This text is taken from the song "In Whatever Time We Have" from Stephen Schwartz's musical Children of Eden. The song is a great one for this pairing, so check it out!  
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	9. Duets and Trios

**9~Duets and Trios**

Eustace loved feeling the weight of Mary's head on his chest, her gentle breathing against his skin as tranquility hummed about them in the fleeting hours before dawn. With one hand, he lazily stroked her soft, dark hair. His other hand held hers, fingers clasped, between them. Their two hands fit so perfectly together that they might have been those of a single, humble penitent at prayer.

In this precariously precious space and time, Eustace and Mary could escape all the obstacles and dangers that forever plagued them. Here in these falling nights and rising mornings, rank and duty drifted away leaving only Man and Wife. These roles thusly simplified left them free to discover each other anew in all manner of intimacies. They talked seriously and otherwise, giggled and teased each other like childhood playmates, and made love until every ache was satisfied and every barrier of self was vitiated. With every caress, moan, and release they capitalized on borrowed time born of a most unexpected convergence of circumstances, a fact they both deliberately ignored.

King Henry was preparing for war against a beloved enemy and chasing after yet another bride, two pastimes thought to be his favorites due to their ability to recapture for him his very distant youth. In love and at war, he could be once again a handsome, charming suitor and a virile, courageous Prince rather than the bloated, crippled, and thoroughly dilapidated wretch of a tyrant he had become. Praise God he saw himself not as an old fool in line behind the insipid Thomas Seymour in pursuit of the not-quite-widowed Lady Lattimore. And Heaven help England and her children should Katherine Parr reject him.

Just as Mary had confided in Susan, so Eustace had found it necessary to discuss with Fleming at least some of the particulars regarding his new relationship. Because Susan had been privy to certain aspects of their earliest congresses, Mary saw no further reason for concealing her current association with Eustace. However he, ever the prudent diplomat, preferred to keep as many of his secrets to himself as possible. Therefore, Fleming was told only what he had already witnessed: that his Master had begun an intimate relationship with an unknown lady, who was to remain so due her status as a married woman of the court.

He could tell that Fleming disapproved. After all, the man had been his valet for many years and took him for a cleric; and although Eustace had previously on rare occasions sought the intimate company of a woman, he had had no secret wives or mistresses or even regular dalliances upon which to boast as did so many others. Because he liked and more importantly respected the valet after all these years of service and companionship, Fleming's unspoken disparagement troubled him. In the end, he only assuaged his own feelings of guilt in deceiving the valet by reasoning that the mystery woman was in fact married…to himself. That portentous secret was one upon which he and Mary had agreed no one should know save themselves and God. Thus the valet and the lady's maid were engaged as conspirators in facilitating this clandestine honeymoon.

On as many nights as she could manage, a most beleaguered Susan, ensuring the other ladies were settled for the night, would report to her Mistress. She would then sneak the King's eldest daughter, clad in no more than a nightdress and cloak, through the servant's corridors and deserted passageways to the Ambassador's private chamber where she would deposit the "mystery lady" to tap on the door and wait. Mary always hid her face lest Fleming should be the one to grant her admittance, and yet at every undertaking of this treacherous venture, her breath caught in her throat when she recognized the feel of her husband's hand reaching for hers.

They would then fall into an embrace allowing the night to become their honeymoon cottage and _little house of dreams.*_ Eventually, they would retire into this favored attitude with Mary's head on Eustace's chest, relishing the vibrations of his voice against her ear and the languid caresses of their intertwined fingers. She would often ask him about his day as if she were an ordinary wife welcoming home an ordinary husband after an ordinary day of work.

She had basked in the glow of his pride at standing between Bishop Gardiner and the Lords of the Privy Council before the King as the official treaty was signed. When Eustace related how the King had looked him in the eye before signing the document and shaken his hand as a brother-in-arms afterward, Mary had felt a visceral desire to witness that scene. Thenceforth in the days apart from Eustace, she had filled many hours desperately trying to imagine just such an exchange between her father and husband, but with each having the full knowledge and acceptance of the other's relationship with her.

Like any good wife, she had mollified Eustace's indignation at having his old rival Merillac cast before his Master the Emperor the charge of _**"seeking to subjugate the whole of Christendom."**_

"You need not pay heed to his insults, my dear. It is he who is on the losing side this time," she had soothed.

And indeed in these blissful moments together it seemed that any side conniving to wrinkle such perfection was sure to lose.

Though these late January nights were long, the blackened sky eventually and inevitably sagged into a grey haze warning the imminent arrival of Susan to collect her charge just before sunrise.

Today Mary smiled up at an already wakeful Eustace through the first rays of that dingy, dawning light. "Good morning, Husband." She knew she would never tire of using that title in these solitary hours with him.

"And you, beloved Wife," he answered, kissing her hungrily. They were humorously interrupted by the audible outrage of her hunger. "Perhaps I should have some breakfast brought, my dear?" He asked with a charmingly lifted eyebrow.

"I pray you do not, my Lord," she teased in mock seriousness, "for how could we be seen together in such a state as this? It is behavior unbecoming a Princess to hide beneath the covers." She cast a glance at the light streaming through the window, and judging the time with the accuracy of a servant on a mission she continued, "Though now that I am Wife it is my duty to serve my husband, is it not?" And so, with a coy smile, she ducked her head beneath the covers to offer said service.

Having given him a thorough going over by the time Susan tapped at the door, the Wife was content to leave the Husband still somewhat is a state of delirium knowing that when he recovered, he would be perfectly prepared to start the day.

Finally there had come an evening when Eustace answered the delicate tapping at his door to find Lady Clarencieux in lieu of his wife. She had not spoken but had quickly handed him a note and disappeared back down the corridor.

_"I am not able to see you this evening, my Darling, but I promise to be in your dreams as you are ever in mine."_

Mary had signed it simply, _"Your Loving Wife."_ Disappointed but not concerned, he had brought her signature to his lips briefly before consigning the note to the hearth and preparing for bed in anticipation of meeting her in his dreams.

The next night there had been no tapping of any kind at his door once the servant boy carried away his warming wraps, but fretful misgivings had fallen upon him in earnest when after several days and nights, he had still heard nothing. Rumors began to circulate that the Princess was taken ill with one of her sicknesses and though he knew his unease to be unnecessarily enhanced by reason of il matrimonio segreto**, he began to seek out an opportunity to see her by day or by night. Hence this cold, early February day found Eustace hastening to Mary's apartments glad for any excuse to see his beloved wife and eager to dispel the needless anxiety that squeezed his heart.

Lady Clarencieux admitted him to Mary's receiving room, and when he saw her looking pale and fragile in a stiff chair hard at work at her correspondence, he silently cursed the servants' in attendance not only for neglecting to sweep her into bed with a hot plaster but also for denying him the opportunity to do so by virtue of their presence in the room.

For her part, Mary was glad of the servants during this "formal" visit. "Good afternoon, Excellency," she greeted him warmly. It would have been lovely to hold him for just a moment. "I was writing to my sister. She is fortunate to be able to spend so much time at Hatfield with our brother."

"I hear the young Prince is growing up to be a strong and diversely talented young man," Eustace replied innocuously, towing the unquestionable lie of the realm. He seated himself as close to her as was seemly in this company. Then, heart tightening again at her pallor he said, _**"People tell me that you have been unwell, Lady Mary. I trust not too unwell."**_

She was prepared for this. She well knew how the court paid close attention to the health of its sovereign's offspring, particularly during her father's tumultuous reign. Mary was at once grateful for the convenience of her famously frail constitution. She knew she would have to tell him the truth she had begun to suspect, but she was not ready yet.

Graciously, she replied,_**"I thank you. The surgeons have bled me once or twice and so I think to be better."**_

_** "God willing..." **_he smiled at her. She looked tired and a little peaked, but there was something altogether different in her appearance. His powers of observation could not discern it. Oh, if he could only wrap her in his arms and kiss the color back into her cheeks!

"_**Yes, God willing,"**_She echoed back. Thentaking note of his perceptive stare, she cast about for a means of changing the subject, _**"Tell me what is happening in court. Is the King thinking of marrying again?"**_

Eustace, having satisfied himself for the moment that she was in the grasp of no grave illness, delved into the latest court developments. Since they had not seen each other for several days, there were actual events that he needed to relate to her. _**"There is a new law enacted. It requires that any lady the king may marry must, on pain of death, disclose any charge of sexual misconduct that might be brought against her. Frankly, My Lady, this rather narrows the field. The ladies at court are, how to say, not exactly known for their virtue,"**_ Eustace smirked.

Had they been alone she would have made some coquettish reply to his diplomatic sarcasm, but this was an official visit, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time since he had been shown in. She gave him her most serious stare and continued, _**"I still think the King will want to remarry. It is true he has a son, but he will need another son to feel secure, in case the first should die."**_

Eustace's keen senses noticed a subtle change in her demeanor at this last point, which he attributed to her tender affection for her undeniably frail younger brother. He had long admired her capacity to love both of her half-siblings despite their being tangles in her own life. Now that admiration only grew as she called for the King to produce more "tangles." It seems she was as angelically unconditional in her love of that man as was her poor, brokenhearted mother.

"_**You are right," **_he said, and could not stop himself from adding, _**"And yet what woman on earth would want to marry a king who either puts his wives away or kills them? **_Curse him for having so abused his daughter that she should love even the slights he cast against her as a means of loving him.

Mary bristled a bit at this most concise gibe at her father. The truth of that barb was as undeniable as it was hurtful, and all of a sudden she felt very tired. "Forgive me, Excellency," she said wearily, "I believe I must rest again now."

Eustace rose awkwardly, silently chastising himself for having offended her with his stinging wit. "I am sorry to have trespassed so long upon you, Your Grace," he said and hoped she could hear the fullness of his apology in his tone.

"Do not fret yourself. I am very glad you have come," she said absolving him with her earnest smile. "I fear I am simply not quite recovered yet."

"Then I wish you a restful afternoon, Your Grace," he smiled warmly, bowed, and took his leave.

All seemed well with the world a few nights later when Mary and Eustace dined together with the King and a small party which included Thomas and Edward Seymour, Charles Brandon, a sourly chastened Surry, and of course, Lady Lattimore. The clandestine honeymooners cast furtive glances across the table at each other amidst talk of the coming war with France. Later when the King had taken his target aside for a more secluded game of cards and conversation, Mary strategically repositioned herself behind her husband's chair so that they could share a few companionable exchanges themselves.

Fidgeting with the chair and longing to touch the man, Mary said, _**"The King seems quite taken with Lady Lattimore."**_

"_**It is true,"**_he replied, **"**_**and we know that when he takes a fancy to a person or a thing, he usually goes the whole way." **_He looked up at his young bride. She was breathtakingly lovely in the candlelight, he thought, with her dark hair shining across her shoulders and the gleaming material of her gown stretched taut across her supple bosom. How he wished he could turn forth the hours until their moonlight meeting.

"_**Perhaps that is why he is so happy," **_Mary said. She seemed lost in some secret happiness of her own, oblivious to her husband's enchanted stare.

Later that same evening when they were once again cloistered comfortably together in their customary tableau, Eustace murmured to his beloved wife, "Mary, I am sorry for slighting your father the other day. It is most admirable that you care so dearly for your sister and brother after all that he made you to suffer. I am amazed that you should furthermore wish him to have more children to place above you in his estimation."

Beside him, Mary answered, "It is right that I should love them since they, like me, had no part in what their parents planned for them. And were it not God's will that I should honor my father, I would still love him as I believe that he has always loved me in his most secret of hearts."

"Of course you are right," he soothed, "I only worry how this could affect your future prospects. I will never stop campaigning for the full restoration of your legitimacy in line for the throne."

Mary sighed, "Please Eustace, can we not set aside future worries and simply give ourselves over to this fleeting happiness? Has the Act of Succession not already proven that my father loves me _and_ Elizabeth, and wishes to set right past wrongs so that we may be a proper family again? It is what I have most wished for since my mother's death," she finished quietly.

Eustace thought Mary gave her father far too much credit to the good, but finding it impossible to dampen his love's delight, he said instead, "Forgive me, it is but the long-practiced caution of an old diplomat. My heart swells to see you finally so happy, Mary," he added earnestly. "But tell me, Tesoro, have you not had any other wishes in all that time?" he teased, sweeping the hair from her face to caress her cheek.

Was this was it then, the moment to share with him the coming fulfillment of her very dearest wish? Seeing her love for him reflected back at her in all his features, Mary said shyly, "This is one…" She smiled and kissed him sweetly.

Soon, their kiss deepened, and before long it was more than his heart that swelled. On this occasion, their lovemaking was all joyousness and celebration founded in a familiar rhythm that had comforted them both so often in weeks past; and when they were once again satiated and reposed in each other arms, Mary said to him drowsily, "There is another."

***borrowed respectfully from L.M. Montgomery**

****title of one of my favorite operas by Cimarosa. The words just sounded better in Italian here.**

**The last chapter was short, so I've tried to make up for it here. Looks like I'm on a roll now after many months of writer's block. Please take a moment to review. Feedback is a lovely incentive for the writing process ;-)**


	10. Sotto Voce

**10~Sotto Voce**

The warm heat of contentment radiated through Mary's body as she sat sunken into a gloriously comfortable chair before the hearth. Her embroidery lay on a small table beside her where she had given it up in favor of quiet ponderings. She glanced across the room at her husband poring over various papers at his desk. Watching the candlelight flinging shadows across Eustace's handsome face, she sighed deeply. He must have heard her despite his current preoccupations, for he looked up and met her eyes. The smile he gave her was simple, complete, and then he went back to his papers. Her eyes turned to gaze through the dancing flames before her. The folds of her matronly gown billowed over the great mound obscuring her lap, and her hands traced lazy circles over its fullness. She had never before experienced a more unblemished bliss. "Soon," her heart hummed.

"Not too soon, Tesoro," came his reply.

She looked about the room in confusion. "I beg your pardon?" The heaviness in her lap was no longer her ripening womb, but the head of her husband, whose unruly curls were tangled between her fingers.

"The moon is still high, we have plenty of time," he answered, wrapping his arms tightly about her waist and pulling her closer.

"It was a dream," Mary sighed, returning fully to the present.

"Yes, this is my favorite dream…" He kissed her navel, "_and since it is not yet near day,_ let us keep dreaming still."*

His subsequent kisses trailed upward along her abdomen, between her breasts, and against her long neck toward her ear. Finally, he captured her mouth with his and lost himself in tasting her until she brought them both upright and pointedly pressed against his chest with her hands.

He pulled away confused, "What is wrong, Mary?"

Her eyes shyly downcast, she dropped her hands into her now vacant lap. Her fingers twittered nervously until Eustace rested a heavy hand atop them. "Mary?" He asked again quietly, his voice resonant with concern.

"You teased me last night about wishes I have had…" She glanced up at him and smiled self-consciously before dropping her eyes again.

He nodded gravely and waited silently for her to continue.

"I told you that you were one…" another nervous smile, "…and then I said there was another." This time when she looked at him, her eyes were wide and vulnerable.

The hard lines of unease on Eustace's face dropped into an indulgent smile. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and said with the gentlest encouragement, "Tell me all your wishes, Mary."

Mary chewed the edge of her lip for a moment. It appeared as though she were trying to make up her mind in something. Then, slowly, she lifted his hand and turned it palm up, kissed it, and brought it to rest on her abdomen where she covered it with both of hers. "There is another," she repeated _sotto voce_.**

His eyes widened, his mouth went dry, his ears roared, and for several moments he forgot how to breathe. A jagged sigh shook him back to life. He snatched his hand quickly away and dragged it through his wiry hair.

Mary's eyes began to pool with tears at this jarring, physical response. "Say something," she pleaded piteously.

"God forgive us." His reply seemed to escape involuntarily.

Mary reached out to brush his cheek. "What is there to forgive? We are man and wife." She tried to infuse her smile with an assurance she did not feel.

Not appearing to notice her caress, he spoke into the all-consuming nothingness that had overtaken him, "What a damnable wretch I am." In that instant, he felt as if he were suspended outside of himself, apart from everything.

Then as quickly as the sensation descended, it lifted. The world around him snapped back into painfully sharp focus. The candlelight blazed like the midday sun, and the silent tears that flowed down Mary's alabaster cheeks seemed to scream at him, "you blundering FOOL!" He reached out for her, and though she turned away from him, he grasped her tightly in his arms murmuring a flood of indiscernible penitence in her ear.

She struggled against him like some enraged beast, but her frail little body gave over to fatigue and she went limp in his arms. She could fight the world, but she did not want to fight this man she so dearly loved, the reason for the life within her.

"I know you are afraid," she began quietly. "I am as scared as you are, but we can weather whatever comes so long as we remain as one." With his cheek against hers, their tears mingled together. She shifted in his embrace until she was once again facing him. "This miracle…there is so much to believe in…we must never lose faith, Eustace."***

Bolstered once again by her religious constancy and thoroughly ashamed of his compared weakness, Eustace swept away her lingering tears and kissed her eyelids just as he had on that first night they came together. Then, laying them both down, he cradled her close to his chest and placed his most tender kiss on her forehead; and though they lay facing each other, all limbs intertwined, there was still so much between them.

* * *

><p>In the three or so months that followed, a great many changes were experienced by the whole of the realm. The King had laid before the Duke of Suffolk the charge of preparing Henry's army and leading the invasion of France at Boulogne. Such preparations were both extensive and expensive, characteristics that set many in the kingdom to worry and grumbling. The King, conversely, could not have been more pleased with himself and the world around him, especially since old Lattimore had finally died leaving Henry free to collect his comely widow. England would now be forced to foot the bill for yet another Tudor bride. The wedding arrangements heaped upon the mounting costs of the war undertaking caused many of those privy to the financials to fear, and with good reason, that the King would soon bankrupt his kingdom.<p>

However, the indefatigable Fleming was only fretful over the changes taking place in his Master's demeanor, and he knew right well the concerns which plagued Ambassador Eustace Chapuys were not those pertaining to his host country. More often than not these days, whenever Fleming came upon the man, the valet found him lost in some private deliberation. Had the gout not so debilitated him, Fleming imagined his Master would have paced the floor in pursuit of an answer to that intimate dilemma. His moods were somber and solitary. He wrote constantly, though never called upon the valet to dispatch any letters. Most notably, his evenings were quieter.

It is a valet's purpose to be always at the ready, but the true mark of an inimitable manservant is his discretion. Therefore, Fleming artfully walked a tightrope between omniscience and ignorance while cloaked with invisibility. Because he stood at guard or on hand just outside his Master's door, due to the duality of his position, he was inescapably party to the many intimacies occurring within.

The relationship at its outset had been an active and sonorous one. Then, as is the way of these things, exertions gave way more often to muffled conversation or blessed silence. Some nights, Fleming could not even be sure the mystery lady had been there at all, and on these nights he would have gladly slept soundly had not the unspoken cares of the Ambassador so disquieted him.

* * *

><p>"Will you share those brooding thoughts with your wife?" Mary asked. She lay against Eustace's chest, absentmindedly stroking the arm he held across her chest.<p>

A heavy sigh and then, "I cannot conjure an escape for us, Mary," he said. His tone betrayed the self-loathing he felt at failing to find an answer to their quandary.

"There is still time. My father is all but married to Katherine, perhaps he may have more children and—"

"And what Mary? Relinquish you from the Succession?" Eustace withdrew his arm and turned away from her. "You know as well as the whole court that the King is too old and too incapacitated to sire more children," he said in disgust.

Mary, undaunted, turned toward him and said to his back, "I hear rumors that the new Queen has Protestant inclinations. If this land is to be overtaken at last by heretics, I would gladly forsake it for another…" She put a hand on his shoulder and kissed the base of his neck, "any place where I can be with you and raise our child."

Eustace turned on his back, pulled Mary's arm across his chest, and clasped her fingers with his. Wearily he said, "Could you abjure your brother and sister so easily? And could you truly resign the duty placed upon you by your blessed mother?" He did not need to glance at her to know she was chewing the corner of her lip in perturbation. "Even if you could, you would come to hate me as I would hate myself for being the cause of it."

"I could never hate you, my Darling." She vowed solemnly.

"Love and hate are two sides of the same coin, Tesoro," he replied.

"Then perhaps God will provide and answer," Mary said surrendering her perturbations for the moment.

"Yes, perhaps He will," and he prayed heartily that God would deliver them, but resting his faith with his Wife's did not stop him mind from churning.

* * *

><p>Not all of his thoughts were stormy. On a subsequent night, after coming together and losing themselves in their passions, Mary collapsed breathlessly with her dewy back against Eustace's chest and brought his hand around to cup the growing swell of her abdomen. She pressed his fingers against her and he could feel the hard knot that was their child within her. For the umpteenth time, he prayed to God for the health and safety of this baby and its mother.<p>

He closed his eyes and tried to imagine their child. Would he have those resolute, steely blue eyes of his mother and be as handsome as his father had been in his youth? Would she have her mother's luscious chestnut hair but with a wiry curl that echoed her father's? The giggling daughter on his knee changed to a clever son learning rhetoric at his desk, and the patient son supporting his enfeebled frame became a daughter scolding him for his dripping candles and ink stained fingers.

"How will I ever teach my wary Ambassador not to conceal so much of his mind from me? Mary teased.

"I am sorry, my Dear. I was only wondering if our daughter will have my nose and your spirit," for at that moment in his mind's eye, she did.

"So it is to be a daughter then?" She wriggled around to face him so that her forehead was touching his.

"Unless it is a son," he quipped.

"Do you not wish for a son, Eustace?" She was serious for a moment. "A strong, handsome man with his father's dashing figure and shrewd wit?

She dissembled competently, but being well practiced in the art himself, he saw straight to the heart of her concerns. "This child is a blessing of which I had never dreamed. The miracle of its existence will be quite enough for me," he answered with all due solemnity. Then he winked at her, "I am a humble man after all."

She ignored the levity and said gravely, "Then you are already a loving father, for you shall never view your son or daughter as a disappointment by birth."

Eustace stroked her cheek and kissed her unreservedly, stopping only to offer, "And the mother that bears my child shall I praise unto the end of eternity for having given me my greatest joy and happiness."

She smiled and kissed him back with truest gratitude and deepest affection.

* * *

><p>On the night of the Duke of Najera's formal reception, Mary soaked up the charming warmth of the King's presence chamber. The rich hangings and bright candles gave the unique impression of intimate opulence. All the courtiers had outdone themselves in splendor, glad for a chance of celebration harkening back to merrier times. The great hall was a tableau of England's vivacity and grandeur where every opportunity to impress the guest of honor would no doubt be claimed, but the initial reception in this setting bespoke a more personal welcoming of an old friend rather than the solicitation of a new one.<p>

Before entering to take her place beside the newlywed Queen, Mary had been somewhat resentful of her part in this evening's festivities. After all, Katherine Parr, as the King's consort, was responsible for entertaining on his behalf. Why did Mary need to be present? Oh yes, because her ill-used and all-but-forgotten mother's Spanish roots worked to her father's advantage now that the Emperor was once again his ally. And if the King's half-Spanish daughter could charm the Spanish general with any Spanish beauty she might possess, then so much the better for His Majesty.

Throughout the preparations for the evening, she had felt tired and cross, stuffed uncomfortably into this ever-tightening dress. Susan had done what she could to alter it in secret. The waist had been shortened slightly and extra folds had been made into the skirt to hide her rounding figure, but the bodice was still unbearably binding and the slippers on her feet pinched her slightly swollen toes. Aside from the ordeal of the gown, Mary was anxious, not about the vulnerability of her appearance before the scrutiny of the whole court, but because she simply did not feel well. Of course this was common for women in her delicate condition, as Susan had reassured her time and again when she complained of fatigue or aches. Still Mary fretted over every twinge; though she would never admit any of it to Eustace.

The past day or so had brought increased intermittent pains in her belly and deep soreness in her back, and there had been some blood. Her ever-patient Susan had put her to bed promising that all she needed was to rest and to stop distressing herself. She reminded Mary that her poor body was only adjusting itself to the difficulty of the coming task. By the time she needed to rise and dress, only the stiffness in her back had remained.

She forgot about that now as she stood proudly before the crowd. She felt her skin tingle at the welcoming trumpet blasts and the arrival announcement of _**"His Highness, the Duke of Najera!" **_ She looked for Eustace entering behind the honored guest, and despite his slow movements and somber attire when compared to Najera's, Mary could see one else. Her heart fluttered at the sight of him, and all of a sudden she felt a quickening in her belly. She smiled a secret smile. It seemed her child had sensed his father's arrival as well.

Moving more slowly now that he required two sticks to support him, Eustace made his way towards his wife. Mary looked exquisite in her peacock gown. He smiled noting that it was the same one she had worn on the evening before she waited for him in the Beggar's Chapel. She was radiant, lighted from within, he knew, by the seed of their love.

"_**Your Highness."**_ The Queen greeted Najera.

"_**Your Majesty."**_ He bowed and kissed her hand.

Eustace looked on proudly as his beautiful wife was presented to the Duke. She greeted him in proper Spanish tradition and said mellifluously in his native tongue, _**"Highness, it is such a great privilege and a pleasure to welcome you to the court of my father. Everyone here knows of your great renown as a general of the Emperor's forces"**_

The Duke was clearly impressed by her charming manner as well as her beauty, and so he should be, thought Eustace. She was indeed her mother's daughter. He ruminated on this thought as he watched her dancing throughout the evening, and with each graceful step and merry laugh she made, his thoughts slipped ever closer to abject despair.

Mary by contrast was all rapture and delight. She eagerly yearned for the end of this evening's festivities so that she could share with Eustace the dancing movements of their child. Each of her smiles brightened as she imagined his reactions, while the baby leapt ever more in response. Her heart was as light as her steps and she danced with abandon, delirious with joy and completeness.

Her agility in the dance only pointed to his infirmity, and the handsome Spaniard with whom she danced mocked him with his youthful vitality. He had never felt more separated from her in all things. And if that were not enough to set him cursing his involuntary love of her, he could not dispel the image of her noble bearing during Najera's formal reception. She had all the makings of a Queen, and he had seen to it that she squandered them all in exchange for a broken-down beggar and used-up cynic. How fitting it was that Monsieur Merillac should arrive just as Eustace claimed this new low. Well, at least he still had his mask of dissimilation.

Merillac sidled up to him with feigned insouciance. _**"So is it a coincidence that there is talk of war, and then General Najera turns up at court?"**_

"_**Absolutely,"**_ he replied_** "This is a private visit. His Highness came to see the Tower, and row on the river, and see the swans."**_ He spun the frivolous tale aloud while in his mind, a separate story unwound it's moral with perfect clarity. This is the only role I should have ever dared play. It is my nature and all I was ever meant to be, the rest—no more than the ambitions of a foolish man.

"_**Do you take me for a fool?"**_ Merillac demanded, bristling.

**_"No Excellency, You are what you are, and so am I." _**There was no mocking beneath his words, only weariness. It was perhaps the most truthful he had been in his entire career.

* * *

><p><strong>*borrowed from Shakespeare's <strong>**Romeo and Juliet**

****musical term meaning "under the voice" Also defined as "lowering one's voice intentionally for emphasis"**

*****song lyrics again, paraphrased from "In Whatever Time We Have" (****Children of Eden**** - Stephan Schwartz) and "Brave Enough for Love" (****Jane Eyre**** – Paul Gordon)**

…**thus my love of music and literature, and my addiction to romanticism ooze forth ;-) Thank you to all those who have reviewed, favorited, or are following this story. I would not have continued this without you!**

**Decided to do this one as a series of vignettes. Hope you enjoy!  
><strong>


	11. Lacrimosa

**11~Lacrimosa**

Susan knocked purposefully at the servant's door of the Imperial Ambassador's chambers. He must have known from the tapping that someone other than the Lady Mary was calling on him this evening, for the face that met hers was a mix of confusion and concern.

"Your Excellency." She curtsied and handed him the note Mary had sent her to deliver and disappeared down the corridor. Her hurried paces reflected both a dislike of these dangerous errands and a desire to return to her duty, caring for Lady Mary who truly had looked unwell when dispatching Susan with the missive.

Upon retiring early from the evening's festivities in honor of the Duke and returning to her apartments, Lady Mary had been almost giddy with delight. However, her chipper chattering about the dancing had been peppered with intermittent grimaces and sharp intakes of breath. Though Susan had asked if she felt unwell, Lady Mary had waved off her concern dismissively claiming only fatigue resulting from so much unpracticed gaiety. Once released from her punishingly binding gown, she had heaved a heavy sigh of relief, and by the time Susan brought out her nightdress and cloak to ready her for the customary evening's intrigue, Mary had settled wearily at her writing desk looking pale, overtaxed, and rather disappointed.

"Thank you, Susan, I can manage the rest. Be sure the other ladies know they need not quit the entertainments on my account tonight, and then I need you to deliver a message for me," she requested wearily. She had not needed to say for whom the message was meant.

Now Susan hastened back to Lady Mary's chambers, stewing once more over this dangerous situation which none involved could either avoid or escape. She had just closed the outer doors behind her when a horrifying scream pierced her thoughts. Running toward the source of the distress, she met with such a sight as to freeze the very blood in her veins.

Lady Mary knelt in the center of her bed, torrents of tears falling like glittering shards of shattered glass down the most pallid cheeks Susan had ever beheld. Her crisp white nightdress in stark contrast was soaked scarlet with blood from waist to hem as were the sheets beneath her. The palms she held out in violent desperation were stained garnet with the same fluid, and before her on the bed amidst a grotesquely crimson sea lay the barely recognizable form of a child, a male child as Susan later determined.

"My child is dead!" Mary wailed, wringing frail arms about her now vacant womb. She sank into herself sobbing mournfully.

After only a moment, blessed practicality overtook the maid and she grabbed Mary's shoulders asking urgently, "My Lady, can you move?"

Receiving no response Susan dragged her to the edge of the bed. Mary feebly tried to stand but her legs gave way and she sank to the floor at Susan's feet. The warm rivulets of blood running down Mary's thighs were a sickening sight and the bitter, metallic smell of the room made Susan want to retch. Thank Heaven the other ladies were away, the terrible scream had not been heard by anyone else, but someone was sure to return eventually and no one could know of this evening's appalling events. With considerable effort, Susan lifted her pitiful charge and helped her to the privy chamber cooing steadily, "Do not worry, My Lady, all will be well, all will be well."

After several moments, she returned to a now nearly catatonic Mary with a clean nightdress and small clothes and a basin of warm water. She bathed and dressed the unresponsive Mary as if she were a small child and tucked her back into her bed which now had clean linens. She looked so small and helpless, barely making a dent in that great bed, and her wan complexion rendered her almost invisible against the sheets. Susan prayed a deep sleep would secure Mary through the next harrowing hours. She then gathered the soiled bedclothes in a basket, placing gently atop them the tenderly wrapped body of the man-child that would not be. She dreaded the gruesome task of incinerating these sheets far more than she had the burning of those stained with Mary's virgin blood.

Preparing to quit the room to destroy this damning evidence, Susan stole one last glance at Mary and the servant's heart broke when she met her mistress's lifeless eyes. She set down the accursed basket and moved to sit on the edge of the bed reaching for Mary's hand. The physical gesture thawed Mary's frozen façade and as her emotions overwhelmed her, she folded herself into Susan's arms and sobbed brokenly into her lap.

Susan softly petted her head and susurrated soothing sounds into her ear. This poor young woman's life seemed so plagued by misfortune, and Susan had been witness to all the worst of it. She knew through her own life's experience of this particular pain as she had lost a child during the first year of her marriage, but that had occurred a mere two weeks after determining her condition. Mary on the other hand, had made it through those dangerous early days to nearly the half-way point, Susan judged from the material she had removed with the linens. Thus, Lady Mary had suffered the stillbirth of a dream.

Holding onto this woman she viewed nearly as a sister, Susan was wracked with worry. She was fully aware of Mary's "association" with the Imperial Ambassador, how could she not be? But this was tangible proof of just how dangerous a game they were playing. Did they have a plan? She could never ask, her part was only to serve and protect her lady unto death, but she hoped these impossible lovers had considered an ending to their story—and in those consoling moments with Mary, Susan prayed they'd survive it.

The following hours were a seemingly endless blur in which Mary rested fitfully, frequently stirred by the writhing cramping in her belly. Sometimes when she awoke, Susan was there to press a hot cloth to her abdomen and a cool one to her head, other times the maid would coax her to eat or drink something, replace her sweat soaked nightgown with a fresh one, or just hold her while she wept. Afterward she would sink back into the bed clothes feeling every bit as frail as she looked and half-wishing the linens would swallow her completely before she was crushed by her own grief.

Once she awoke in a panic. "Do not tell him, _promise me_ you won't tell him," she pleaded ferociously. Susan nodded, frightened by her haunted visage. "I cannot face him," her face crumpled. "It is my doing, my fault, mine, ours, God, oh God! He was mine, Eustace's child, his _son_, and I killed him, oh Eustace! God! Please—" and on and on she howled until she exhausted herself and fell into an unforgiving slumber.

Hours turned into days and Mary developed a fever. To the other ladies, Susan dismissed it as merely "one of My Lady's fits." She refused to call the doctor or even to have one called saying she could care for Lady Mary herself and silently challenging any of them to contest her. Terrified that anyone should see Mary's truly debilitated state, Susan guarded the bedroom door claiming that the Lady needed only to rest undisturbed and had therefore asked not to receive any visitors. If any persons inquired as to her wellbeing they were to be told simply that she was indisposed with a non-grievous complaint.

In truth, on the other side of that door, Mary was being tossed about in the grip of feverish delirium. She weathered wave after wave of relentless torments springing from every corner of some dimensionless, hazy Hell; searing pain ripping through her center like scalded iron…deep purple blood and viscera expelled from her body… a tiny form on the sheets…the scream that tore from the deepest fathom of her soul. And cruelest of all, throughout these torturous battles she was abjectly alone, trapped in this nightmarish gauntlet with Eustace's presence severed from her like a savagely torn limb. Though she called out for him with all the remaining strength of her spirit, the anguished sounds amounted to no more than the weak mewling of some pitiable creature.

* * *

><p>After noting Mary's absence from dinner on yet another evening, Eustace retired early and made his way to her apartments as quickly as he was able. After stewing alone in his chambers for some days now, his emotions were an awkward blending of frustration and dread. His despairing thoughts on the night of Najera's reception had reached a fever pitch by the time Mary retired from the dancing. Consequently, he was almost relieved when he received her note saying she would not come to him that night. So much the better, for his foul disposition would have made for poor company indeed. Yet so solidly imprisoned in this downtrodden state was he that he had even begun to dread meeting with her upon the following evening.<p>

For him, all golden shades of delectation were now tainted with the blackened ugliness of doubt. Their blissful honeymoon had been but a fool's raiment, barely obscuring all unwelcome truths. Those bright candles shining in honor of Najera's visit had bathed the world in a most revealing light, and Eustace saw ahead only dark or impossible outcomes for their plight.

Since then there had been no contact with his wife, for after failing to come to him on that occasion, she had neither sent him any further notes nor responded to repeated messages from him asking to meet with her. He went to her now with all due determination, resolved at last that they could no longer postpone these unwelcome discussions. Plans must be made for their future, and yet every schematic of which Eustace could conceive was fraught with deleterious decisions and irrevocable consequences.

* * *

><p>"Good evening, Lady Clarencieux. I do apologize for the lateness of the hour, but I very much wish to see the Lady Mary," he said amiably.<p>

"I…I am sorry, Your Excellency," she sputtered. "My Lady is…she cannot…that is she will see no one for the moment." Susan was already closing the door.

"Is she ill?" He placed one of his canes in the doorjamb.

"She…I…please Excellency, do not ask me. I promise to inform you as soon as she is…can see you," Susan stammered.

He could ask her nothing more. As a servant, this woman was not allowed to know of their illicit affair, even if she could recite every detail. Appearances were of the utmost importance here at court, but something here felt very wrong, and Eustace would not be pushed out.

"Forgive me." He flung the courtesy at her as he shouldered past her into the room. "You may leave us now, Lady Clarencieux," he demanded, turning to stare imperiously at the maid.

Susan leveled her gaze with his, "You must do as you wish Excellency, but I will not leave My Lady's side." Her eyes blazed with defiance.

"Susan!" A little girl's thin, reedy voice called from within.

Before Susan could even cross toward the door, Eustace opened it at once to reveal the macabre specter of his former bride. Her hair was matted in dark folds to her head with sweat, her skin looked translucent and sallow in the candlelight, and her dull eyes were sunken in their sockets. When she saw him, her bottom lip quivered for a moment and she tried to raise herself in the bed. Then her whole face crumpled into ghastly lines of agony. The soulless moan that drifted from her then was like to that of some forlorn wandering spirit, and Eustace instinctively crossed himself against its evil powers. He stood rooted to floor, staring at Mary with shock and terror.

"God in your mercy, save me from this Hell!" Mary called out.

This effort to speak had required all her remaining strength, and so she collapsed again in a heap of exhaustion. It may well have been a merciful God that moved Eustace out of his stupor and toward that woeful woman. Standing at last by her side, he reached for her shaking frame but found himself still too afraid to touch her. Dropping his arms impotently to his sides, he let his questions spill forth.

"Mary, what has happened? You are ill, why didn't you send for me? "

"By the time I…there wasn't time…it's my fault, I should have…" came her halting, labored responses through muffled sobs.

The heartbreaking reality dawned on Eustace. She had lost the child. Their child was gone. Grief compelled him to reach out for the empty vessel that had held their mingled blood. He rocked Mary in his arms trying to quiet her dreadful keening.

"Hush Tesoro, it is not your fault. It was not meant to be. God in his wisdom and mercy knows best." The accomplished man of delicate phraseology mechanically mouthed platitude after cliché in hopes that doing so enough times might convince both her and himself to believe them. But all those empty words only served to agitate her further.

"NO! It _is_ my fault," she beat wildly at his chest. "I was reckless, the dancing…but I felt him _move,_ Eustace!" Now, she clung fiercely to his collar and stared straight into his eyes. "He was alive, I wanted to fly and I _killed_ him!"

It was all too much for him to process. "You felt him move?" he repeated numbly, "He?—"

"He was your son, Eustace! Who should know better that I the power of a son and still I killed him!" Her hysteria heightened further.

"Cease this torment! She cannot go on like this!" Susan, no longer able to ignore the situation from her post at the door, had joined him at the bedside unnoticed. "Help me, Excellency!" She hissed at Eustace across Mary struggling form.

Eustace nodded back in utter bewilderment. Susan thought he looked like a lost little boy and would have pitied him had she the time to for it. He helped wrestle Mary back into the middle of the bed. Together they pinned her arms under the covers and Susan pressed a cool cloth to her forehead, all the while shushing her ravings and whispering reassurances in her ear. Every eye in the room was swollen red with hot tears and every heart pounded until Mary faded back into oblivion. Susan rose to withdraw from the room. There was nothing more she could do for either of them now.

"I don't know…is she…what should I…?" Eustace lifted his tear stained face to Susan, naked in his helplessness.

"Hold her, talk to her. Her heart is broken, but I dare say she will survive." He nodded but seemed afraid to touch her again, perhaps for fear of breaking her further. Susan could see his guilt already settling about him like a heavy mantle. "She needs to know she's not alone in this. I will ensure that you are not disturbed." Had it been appropriate, she might have reached a hand out to pat his arm, but these verbal reassurances were already more than she was permitted to offer and so she quietly departed leaving Mary in his care for the moment.

Realizing that his canes had been discarded in the furor and that his excruciatingly swollen joints would no longer hold him upright, Eustace lifted the counterpane and carefully settled himself in the bed beside Mary. When he reached for her small hand, he found it cold and so pressed it gently between his own to warm it. He stroked her fragile fingers and pressed that dear hand to his heart as he had when they exchanged vows. Then he leaned over to tenderly kiss the worried creases on her forehead. In the flickering shadows and thick silences that remained, Eustace's mind at last was able to begin processing the revelations of the past few minutes. His soul began to hurt and his tears dropped upon her upturned face mixing with her own that were drying there.

It had been alive, she felt it move. Their child had been alive. She had said "he." Had she really known the sex of the child? Where was he now? Had he been well formed? And then there followed all of the questions that began with "Why?" He would later demand of Lady Clarencieux a painfully detailed recounting of her discovery of Mary's shocking state, the appearance of the child, and the resultant horrific destruction made necessary by his and Mary's intimate association. He was still a man of records, and though these events would never be written, he could not process them without first gathering as much information as possible. For now though, he only held his wife in a most forlorn embrace, mourning this new and terrible emptiness that filled them both.

* * *

><p><strong>Looks like I'm on a role now, folks! Many, MANY thanks to all who have favorited, reviewed or are following this story. I hope I'm making it worth the effort ;-)<strong>


	12. Elegy

12~Elegy

A little boy crowned with a nest of red-gold curls toddled elegantly toward his father who perched against a white willow tree on a carpet laid out beneath its delicately flowing leaves. The smiling father held forth a hand to catch the child and proceeded to tickle him until the boy's tinkling laughter rang in joyful harmony with his own rich baritone. The father's gaze caught that of the observer above the child's head. With a mischievous grin, he turned the boy about in his arms, whispered something conspiratorial into his ear and set him loose. The beloved son rocketed like a shot toward the observer, his unruly hair dancing in the breeze and his bright blue-grey eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

She caught him in her arms and squeezed him tightly, feeling his warmth against her. She closed her eyes to take in his scent— youth and innocence and earthy sunshine; but there was something else, a caustic coppery smell that stung her senses. When she looked down, her giggling fair-haired son was gone. Her gown and arms were soaked with blood that glistened like fearsome rubies in the cruel sunlight. The father looked upon her in horror as her scream pierced the cloudless skies.

"Mary! Hush Tesoro, please, it was only a dream!" Eustace held her quaking frame firmly to his chest. Her eyes were wild and haunted; her every nerve startled stiff with tension.

"My Lady, are you well?" Susan burst in having been ripped from sleep by that savage scream.

Mary instinctively shrank further into Eustace's arms in an effort to protect herself from further confusion.

"It was only a dream, Lady Clarencieux, she will be recovered in a moment," Eustace answered calmly.

Mary was already soothing at the sound of his low voice rumbling through his chest against her ear.

"Please, Excellency, you must go," Susan hissed harshly. "I will leave for a moment to settle the other ladies, but you must take your leave. It is too dangerous for you both just now. If anyone should find you here—"

"Yes, yes, I understand," was Eustace's frustrated reply, "but when shall I —"

"I promise to send word. Now, settle her quickly and go!" Susan rushed out barely registering that she had just issued a command to a court official.

"Tesoro, can you hear me?" Eustace continued to rock her. "I have to leave you now, but I cannot go with you so unwell"

Mary hung on to his neck like a despondent child. "It was a dream…and then a nightmare. He was…oh Eustace, I—" Her lip trembled and new stinging tears threatened, but she clamped down on them with her characteristic fortitude. "I feel safe here…now," and she hugged his neck tighter as he kissed her hair.

When she released her grip on him, he settled her back into the pillows. He caressed her damp cheek and bent once more to kiss her full on the mouth. Her hand at once went behind his head, holding him close and drawing as much strength as she could from his kiss.

"I will see you as soon as may be." He said gathering his sticks and shuffling toward the servant's door. "I am ever with you, Tesoro. Remember that," and with that he departed with a heavy heart and mournful soul.

* * *

><p>Eustace's writing table was filled with papers, drafts of letters to the Emperor detailing the war preparations being made in England: letters from the Emperor containing reassurances for the King and careful instructions for Eustace further proceedings, various notes and writings detailing this or that conversation he or Fleming had overheard at court. Although he had been sitting there long enough for his joints to stiffen and his back to ache, he had neither read nor written a single word.<p>

All those spidery scratches webbing the parchment spread out before him like some endless black forest of thorny branches in which Eustace was utterly lost. From time to time a phantom giggle echoed through that haunted wood and from the very corner of his eye he could almost catch a flitting glance of a child. But turning his head toward the vision, he would see only the dancing orange flames from the fire in the hearth. Its warmth, however, did not reach him and so he continued on in his accursed wonderings.

God damn his soul, he had at times felt moments of relief at the loss of this child. It had been a horrid solution to their desperate situation. God in his wisdom had seen and done what was best, and there was some solace to be found in that…had not the following thought occurred—that this was no blessing, but rather a punishment for the sins he and Mary had committed in the name of their Lord. The raging battle between blessing and curse weighed heavily, though neither touched him so closely as the pervading ache of loss and the near-constant fear for Mary.

Suddenly sweeping those meaningless papers aside, Eustace reached for his journal, seeking to pour his grief onto its pages in search of some momentary respite. His hand trembled as he wrote those words.

_My son…is dead. He was a dream I never quite believed in and now his is gone forever. Mary, forgive me, FORGIVE me! I loved you too much to abstain from you and my love has nearly killed you. The light in your eyes called to me and now I have put it out. I don't know how to go on from here, where to put my trust. Is God our salvation or our judgment? I need your faith to steady my own, but I fear I can do naught but corrupt and abuse you further if I lean any more heavily upon you. I have held you so closely as to crush you in my arms and still I remain untouched by… _

A tear splashed onto the page obscuring those painful words, and as another followed, Eustace dropped his head to the desk and wept in earnest over the crushed missive clasped to his heavy heart.

* * *

><p>Elsewhere that evening, a somberly dressed Lady of the Court snuck away to the shadowy silence of the Beggar's Chapel. There she lit a single candle and knelt in fervent prayer. Thus she remained for some time while the tiny flame flickered under the weight of her earnest supplications. She sought God's forgiveness for dark, unspeakable deeds. She prayed for the blameless soul of a poor departed child. Finally, she asked God to send his comfort and mercy upon her grieving Mistress and that unfortunate woman's Lover.<p>

As she stood to make her departure, she cast another glance at the candle and thought once more of those two disconsolate people. With all her spirit she willed that tiny flame to be the torch that lighted their way back to each other.

* * *

><p>The knock on the door was wholly unexpected, but the light tapping drummed a familiar pattern. Sitting up in the bed, Eustace called out "Come."<p>

Mary entered looking pale and slight and very nearly lost in the voluminous folds of her nightdress and wrapper. She flitted quickly across the cold bare floor like some nymph in a fairy story and stood just opposite the great bed with her toes sinking into the heavy carpet. For a moment the pair only stared at one another.

Following their grievous night together, Eustace had stayed away, per Lady Clarencieux's instruction, for Mary's sake and safety. They were divided just as they needed each other most, but there was naught to be done for it. As the days passed Eustace grieved alone, waiting for word of Mary's recovery and troubling endlessly over their future welfare. Now she stood still and silent beside him, and everything but she melted from his senses.

"Oh Mary, how I have missed you," he whispered. He reached out a hand to her, beckoning her closer, but the torrent of emotions welling up within him just then refused translation into words. And so, with eyes damp and mouth agape, he waited.

She glided forward and took his trembling hand firmly in her own. Joining him in the bed, she pressed her fingertips to his lips. "Shh, my Darling," she purred.

She kissed his throat, tasting his flesh seductively with her tongue. Her hands roamed over his chest and down to his loins. His breath quickened in her ear as his arms pulled her closer. Through the thin gown and wrapper, he kneaded her breasts with his palm and flicked her nipples with his thumbs. She burned for him, felt a growing loss inside herself that she needed him to fill. Her slight thigh edged his apart and she moved atop him, gathering the clouds of her fine linen dressing down about her waist. His hands cupped her buttocks beneath the fabric, squeezing her flesh. She was so light, so delicate and fragile…

But what was he doing? In had not been so very long ago that this poor body had been ravaged by pain and unspeakable injury, all of which had been caused by him. His love had nearly physically broken her, and even now the specter of his dead son still haunted him.

He felt Mary's hand reach for his manhood beneath his chemise. He caught it roughly and shoved her away, horrified by his own actions. Sitting up in the bed, he turned his back to her and struggled to compose himself. He felt a soft hand brush his shoulder and immediately brushed it away.

"_No_, Mary, no please. I need a moment to…"

He was granted that moment a several more, all of which were so full of silence as to cause a compression of his breathing. Unwilling to face her just yet, he spoke first over his shoulder.

"I am sorry. I should not have let it go so far."

"Eustace, is there something wrong?"

Gone was the pillar of confidence that had entered his bed. Mary's voice, nearly strangled with fear, brought forth his protective instinct and he turned back to her quickly.

"I only meant that this is too soon. You are…I do not want to hurt…it is too soon," he dropped his gaze from her.

She reached out a reassuring hand to pat his knee. "But I am recovered. Truly, there is no reason why we should not—"

"There is _every_ reason, Mary," he shouted, flinching away from her hand. "You might have died for the sake of this terrible love! Not by the hand of any mortal man save myself, and all because I have brought you so far!" He turned from her in his anguish.

His rejection stung and offended Mary. Drawing herself up in outrage, she answered vehemently to his profile, "You have brought me so far? We have been together in this from the beginning. You did not lead me anywhere I had not already chosen to follow you."

Mightily as he wished to, he could not relent. This burden would not be shared. Starring at his hands, he continued to plead his case. "Should we not consider that God has seen fit to punish us for our fearful trespasses against his law?"

Sensing his determination and her losing ground, Mary swept from the bed and around to his side where she knelt before him and forced him to meet her eyes. "I am you _wife_, Eustace. We were married before _God_ and knew that our love was second only to our love of _Him_!"

He sighed, "There was no priest, Mary." It was a weak argument and he knew it.

She rose to sit beside him and reached for his hand. Entwining her fingers with his she said, "I have no need of a priest to join my soul with yours, Eustace. Can you truly doubt our bond after all this time together? Is your faith in this love so weak as to break with the first awful test?"

For several moments, he sat burning beneath the sincerity of her stare. He felt himself falter, but then very slowly, he disengaged her hand from his and set it gently back upon her own lap. Meeting her gaze once more, he said resolvedly, "It was weakness to bend to my will in order to justify my lustful desires, but God has witnessed our sins and means to bring us back to Him."

Mary looked first at her hand and then back at Eustace, and seeing there was nothing else to be said, she rose in silence and quitted the room.

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><p><strong>Endless thank yous to all who have stuck in there with me! This story is my baby and so far it's been best to let it develop in it's own time, but that makes it hard to keep a schedule. This story WILL be completed...I just can't say when exactly, but we're close. Review or message me as <strong>**you feel so moved, it's such a thrill to hear from folks all over the world who take time to read this little pet project of mine! Happy Holidays :-) **


	13. Fugue

13~Fugue*

The weather in London come late August was abysmal: unbearably hot and intolerably wet. One opened a window to entice some sweet breeze to stir the stagnant air inside the palace rooms only to be greeted by the rising dank stench of decay wrought by the heat and humidity. Sickness ran rampant during these late summer months and the King, ever fearful of disease, habitually quitted the rank repulsiveness of London seeking relief and safety in the verdant, open countryside. This year however, as the Declaration of War with France had been made, the King risked remaining in the closeness of the city in order to better oversee the necessary preparations. Henry, seemingly happily married to his sixth wife since ascending the throne, was eager to prove his sovereignty—the sooner the better. And so, the caged lion prowled about his cell, roaring at the Council, the Court, and any other unfortunate who failed to feed his ravenous war machine.

In the sticky stillness of her chambers, Henry's first-born daughter was herself at war. The daughter of a king should want for nothing and yet upon reflection, nothing was exactly what Mary seemed to have. Now in her twenty-seventh year, she should have been long married to some great prince and mother to several walking and talking children. At this point in her life, she should have no greater concerns than serving her husband in his realm and making suitable matches for their offspring. The distance between that expected life and the reality in which she lived very nearly made Mary laugh at such absurdity.

Sitting as still as possible so as not to provoke any additional perspiration in the oppressive heat, Mary's mind vacillated between expected life and unexpected life as thoughts of her son, so recently deceased, rose up for the umpteenth time. For one shining moment he had been the very center of a dream that found her at last, if not expectedly content by way of prince and palace, deliciously frightened and perilously fulfilled on the brink of a most perfect love. Before the loss, there had been no clear path to a happy ending, but her absolute faith in the soundness of their heaven-ordained love had, to her at least, made their prospects exciting rather than daunting. With Eustace well in hand and heart and their child on the way, no maleficence could vanquish her.

Now, taking stock in pragmatic fashion, she counted exactly nothing. Her son was gone, her "husband" seemed determined to set her aside, and her position, despite Queen Katherine's efforts, remained that of the dutiful, neglected, aging spinster of a daughter to the King. The path that opened before her now was as sure and empty as her vanished dream had been full and uncertain. It stretched out endlessly before her with an absolute and unquestionable nothingness that consumed and thoroughly defeated her.

Exhausted by the gushing torrents of emotional tragedy and adrift now in desolate disconsolation, Mary felt as though she understood much but could feel very little. Again, the absurdity of such as notion struck her as amusing, though she dare not laugh. To allow mirth now would be to invite madness, and yet how could one maintain sanity in the face of so much aberration?

That question was one which must be handed over to God. Her indomitable faith was her final stronghold, the one constant on which she could—nay, MUST rely. Mary rose to collect her mother's rosary and went to kneel at the prie dieu. The shadowed little corner seemed a bit cooler than the rest of the room, and now holding the worn beads and memory of her mother close, she found some pittance of relief. Perhaps if she stayed here long enough she might even truly begin to feel _something_… if only the physical pain of prolonged genuflection.

* * *

><p>"…<em>it was weakness…"<em>

Weakness. The word echoed in the hollow places in his soul. Eustace had not been able to watch her go, though he had sent her away. Weakness. He had not been able to resist his own desires in the first place. Weakness. He had not been able to offer her comfort when she needed it most. Weakness. He could not admit even to himself that he needed that comfort too. Weakness, it was all weakness. He was made of weakness, and now weakness consumed him.

Could he turn to God for strength as he knew she would? _"God has witnessed our sins and means to bring us back to Him."_ Had he meant that when he said it to her? Was God finally demanding of him something more than weakness? Or had Weakness compelled the argument as a convenient disguise for his cowardice, his fear, his abject terror of her, of himself, of their loss, their love? Perhaps his doubts did injure this blessing. He was not worthy and so God tooketh away what he gaveth. Here he was, supposedly a great theological scholar, a Bishop even, but he could not tease out a faith half so true as hers in God and in himself.

That last thought humbled him, and at last in his humility he began to understand. He felt even deeper now the shame of refusing her. Was he no better than her selfish father and all the others who had ill-used or neglected her? Mary was lost and so was he because of their mutual loss. They had created a life together and they needed each other to heal from the terrible loss of that joined life. He needed the mercy of her touch—her forgiveness for causing such an ill-fated life. If she would grant it, he would strive to set aside all weakness to be worthy of her unshakable faith in him.

He would also endeavor to strengthen his faith in God, but the greater question of God's will concerning himself and Mary and how best to fulfill that plan would be a longer, more arduous journey. For now, he would simply do what he must to help Mary, this gentle creature and most worthy servant of God, find solace in their tragedy. He would never feel whole again unless they mended this breach. The aching grief, the guilt, the fear, the shame would torment him to his grave…and all that amounted to weakness.

* * *

><p>It was late afternoon when he came to her. The air clung heavily, stifling the breath out of everyone and everything. All those who were able, found excuses to retreat out of doors in order to await the first cooling breezes of night that whispered of a soothing September. Hence, Eustace and Mary may well have been the only remaining prisoners within the palace walls.<p>

From where she sat in a great armchair before the cold hearth, she heard him enter. She recognized his shuffling gait across the floor but she did not turn her concentrated gaze from the grey emptiness of the fireplace. He rested a heavy hand on her shoulder. She leaned her cheek against it despondently before covering his hand with hers and grazing his knuckles delicately with her thumb. That arthritic hand trailed down her arm as she turned sideways in the chair.

He was leaning heavily on the stick in his right hand, trying to keep as much weight as possible off of his swollen, twisted feet. The slanting light through the dingy window-glass cast heavy shadows over his rough-hewn face with its wiry grey beard. The contrast of light and dark highlighted every wrinkled crevice and deepened the sunken darkness beneath his red-rimmed eyes. Despite his careworn visage, she felt her heart lift in its customary flip when she looked at him. She searched his eyes, looking for something beneath the deep pools of sorrow and guilt she saw there. The light shifted and she thought she recognized a glimmer of naked fear before it disappeared again in a wash of steady determination.

He stood patiently still and let her examine him to her satisfaction. Her hair, flowing long and loose, looked like liquid metals—copper, gold, iron. The thought of iron made him smile. She was like iron, strong and hard in nature, malleable and lustrous in capable hands. He reached out and pulled his fingers through a lock of that dark, rich hair to the ends and she rose and came to him as if pulled by that silken rope.

She had seen that glimpse of a smile and responded to it instinctively, wondering from whence it came. Now as she stood before him, she looked again in his eyes for answers she needed to continue. She reached a questioning hand to his face and traced a line from his furrowed brow along his cheekbone to the cleft of his upper lip. She lifted herself up and kissed him tentatively. His lips were supple but did not immediately yield to hers, he was holding himself back, and she sensed that fear wrestling once more with his will. Stifling her own disappointment, she let him go and moved past him away from the choked hearth.

He countered her, pivoting on his cane, and caught her fingers before she was out of reach. Slowly he backed to the recently vacated armchair pulling her toward him, his palm pressing hers with the warm heat of reassurance. He sat heavily in the chair and looked up from their clasped hands to her face. The benevolent but empty smile on her lips caused him to falter. Seeking comfort and fortitude, he pulled her closer and wrapped his arms about her waist, burying his ashamed face in the soft folds of her skirts.

She stood stiff and uncertain in his embrace for a moment before her shoulders relaxed and she cradled his head in her hands. She slowly released a breath she hadn't known she was holding and let the closeness of him fill her spirit while she smoothed his soft curls. He loosened his grasp and she sank down onto her knees before him. Their four hands entwined in one great knot in his lap. His head was bowed as if in prayer and she kissed his forehead, obscured as it was by a mist of unruly curls. Then she found his lips with hers, surrendering herself while offering one final plea. He tasted her resolve and found at last in it the strength to offer his. A delicate spark burst through a nearly impenetrable darkness and they found each other at last.

Hands fumbled clumsily at ribbons and ties, nerve endings tingled with anticipation, souls breathed life into each other, and bodies fell in an inexplicable heap of limbs and linens on the thick carpet before the lifeless ashes. If one hesitated, the other encouraged. If questions were posed silently in one's eyes, answers were given on the other's tongue and lips. They took their time touching and tasting every inch of each other in lament of an ending and celebration of a beginning until their sweat glistened in the dying light.

Everything was new and exciting and familiar and comfortable all at once. He felt no pain, only utter completeness in the feel of her soft skin on his. She relished being held against his nakedness and needing every fiber of his body entwined with hers. When at last he entered her, they both felt the release from the shackles of so many deeply embedded tensions. Now fused together, they drifted to some transcendent sphere, bound together by their incandescent love of one another.

The sun had disappeared below the horizon and a sliver of the new moon was rising as they washed back to shore in shuddering after-waves of pleasure.

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><p>*1. Music- a polyphonic composition based upon one, two, or more themes which are enunciated by several voices or parts in turn, subjected to contrapuntal treatment, and gradually built up into a complex form having somewhat distinct divisions or stages of development and a marked climax at the end.<p>

2. Psychiatry- a period during which a person suffers from loss of memory, often begins a new life, and, upon recovery, remembers nothing of the amnesic phase.

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><p><strong>So we have a reconciliation at last, but will it last? ;-) I'm not done with these two yet...<strong>

**Someone had mentioned he/she enjoyed the first chapter on account of it being a love scene with no dialogue and said that he/she would like to see another one like that. It was an interesting idea to me. The first chapter had no dialogue because I was intimidated by the prospect of writing it. In this one it was much more intentional, and I hope equally successful. Reviews welcome-I've tried to thank you all personally where possible, but please know I am just as appreciative of you anonymous readers!  
><strong>


	14. A Tempo

**14~A Tempo***

Strange how all things, even war, can become routine, Eustace thought. Nearly a year had passed since Henry had met with General Najera and begun his war preparations with France in earnest. Day in followed day out; money was spent, materials were acquired, weapons were forged, soldiers were trained. Warrior King Henry was happy. His council was not—particularly since Henry had declared his intention to lead his grand English army himself. The assault was imminent and woe betide any who sought to disabuse the King of his notion. For his part, Eustace simply continued about his business; observing preparations, gathering both the gossip and the whispered truths, keeping the Emperor informed, and flattering and soothing the King by turns according to whichever was required.

There was of course another routine that filled his time, the one he carried on alongside his wife. Since Henry's latest Queen Katherine took her role as mother and consort to heart, and seemed genuine in her desire to restore some semblance of familial unity to the King and his children, Mary and Elizabeth were invited to take up permanent lodging at court. Such close proximity to Mary made Eustace's interactions of any sort with her that much easier to facilitate. And so, more nights than not, she found her way into his bed or he into hers.

It seemed that no one paid much heed to a cloaked lady moving through the darkened stairwells and shadowed halls at night. The servants noted her of course; but then a cloaked lady about a clandestine encounter was hardly an uncommon sight at court, and any servant worth his salt knew to keep his own counsel when it came to the affairs of the nobility. Susan kept busy ensuring that any persons whispering of connections between the Ambassador's and the Lady Mary's households were made to believe in false dalliances between his valet and her ladies. The dedicated Lady Clarencieux needn't have feared; for the servants generally thought Lady Mary, with her spinster airs and her well-worn prayer beads, outright frigid and far too boring to entice any prince of Europe. And how could the aged, all but crippled Imperial Ambassador carry on with anyone? The very idea was laughable! Thus, Eustace and Mary were largely ignored and left to their own routine.

Routines are comforting, comfortable, thought Eustace. They have a rhythmic quality to them that soothes and becalms. Anxieties need not plague one who knows what to expect, and yet…a niggling disquiet skulked on the edge of his mind. Experience had taught him to be wary of routines, for in their hypnotic quality lay the danger. Sailors are quick to tell you the doldrums mean death for any unwary man at sea, and sirens will sing you to sleep before stealing your soul. Though he believed not in mythical sirens, he felt the inherent wisdom in the idea that it was not a far reach from dulcify to subdue. Routines could be upset or even obliterated in an instant...but constant vigilance made him weary. Eustace closed his eyes and his mind called for rest.

He recognized her tapping at his door. "Come," he called, for Fleming had long ago learned to leave the Ambassador to his private affairs with his mystery lady after being settled for the evening.

Mary opened the door to find him propped up in the bed, head resting against the pillows, eyes closed. She went immediately to his bedside, brushed his hair aside and kissed his forehead. He smiled at so common a wifely gesture.

"You are not well, my Dear," she frowned by way of greeting.

He felt feverish and shivered slightly beneath her touch. She looked down to see his feet sticking out beneath the heavy bedclothes. She knew from his explanation that the gout brought pains which made his feet feel frozen and detached, but the weight of the linens on them was unbearable against the swollen flesh. How she wished she could provide him some kind of relief.

"No, the gout pains me a great deal tonight." He sighed against a wave of resigned hatred for the reality of his "old-man's disease," the constant reminder of his aged brokenness. "I fear I will soon have to be conveyed about in some sort of litter. Perhaps Fleming will squire me about on his shoulders, for he is certainly still rather spry," he chuckled.

"I know how heartily you resist any show of weakness, even more so now with the accelerating preparations for war, but perhaps you should rest a bit more and spare yourself some of the pain." He nodded resignedly. "Well then, tell me what I can do now to ensure your comfort," she said, moving from gentle wife to solicitous nurse.

"A kiss would be a welcome distraction," he said smiling, and she happily obliged.

She crossed back around to her side of the bed, dropping her cloak in the chair on the way. He glimpsed her slender figure through her nightdress for a moment as she passed before the fire. "I have not asked how you are this evening my dear."

She crawled into bed and curled beside him, knees tucked under her. "I am ready to put my mind at rest and do my best to distract you from your pains." She kissed him again.

Though she had tried to mask the thoughts on her face, he had seen the worried creases of her forehead. "And a welcome distraction you are." He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. "Only tell me what stirs your mind, Tesoro, and perhaps we can both rest," he said, drawing her out good naturedly.

She wrinkled her nose at him and with slight exasperation said, "You can always tell, can you not?"

"In my profession, knowing what people do not say is far more important than knowing what they do," he replied. "Confession is good for the soul," he teased, kissing her softly.

"Kindly control yourself, _Bishop Chapuys_!" Mary cried in mock dismay and swatted playfully at his chest. She teased open the lacings of his chemise and swept her fingers over the tuft of hair there. "It seems I do have something to confess, your Grace."

"Tell me, child." Eustace played along.

"I'm ashamed I haven't told you sooner. Shall I whisper it into your ear?" Her hand trailed downward to find the edge of his chemise.

She began to pull it upward and Eustace's voice was coarse when he said, "Yes, by all means, do unburden yourself."

She crawled toward him in the bed. He could feel her warm breath and the flick of her tongue against his ear as she whispered, "I was brought up to be an accomplished horsewoman."

"And why should that trouble you, dear Lady?" He asked, somewhat distractedly.

Her hand found what it sought and she began to stroke him gently. "For a Lady, that means strictly side-saddle of course." She swept the curls from his brow with her other hand so she could watch his face.

His eyes were closed and his manhood stiff when he croaked, "Such accomplishments are to be commended, not condemned."

She leaned in and kissed him deeply. Then she brought one leg across his thighs and confessed, "I always thought it would be exciting to ride astride." With devilish grin, she guided him deep inside her with her hand.

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><p>Sometime later, Mary lay listening to her husband's satisfied snoring, pleased that she had helped him find release from his worries at least. Though, in doing so she had only added to her own. True, she had successfully, and rather pleasantly, redirected his attentions from her present thoughts, but she felt ashamed of her tactics and had now begun to puzzle at her need to hide her mind from him. She signed heavily. Perhaps the day in its doings had simply rendered her too emotionally spent to relive it with Eustace.<p>

Though she knew the King would very soon set off to Boulogne with his army, Mary had not expected to be called to the Queen's chambers along with her sister for a private farewell from her father this afternoon. The gesture bespoke a tenderness so unlike him Mary saw in it the intention of Katherine Parr. The woman had an earnest gentleness about her that seemed to spring from a place of quiet strength and resolve. Mary had watched as this particular trait of hers alleviated the burdens of those around her and softened even her formidable husband. This Queen was not afraid of the King. She did not flatter him, nor did she challenge him. She cared for him without vexing him, and Mary saw that while Katherine seemed to have a kind of regard for her father, she did not love him. Yes, so far Mary liked well this latest wife, though she wondered how things might change now that this new Queen was acting regent on the King's behalf.

During this private audience her father had told the Queen again of the Act of Succession, naming Mary his heir after her brother Edward and his issue. It was the first time he had spoken of it in Mary's presence and at his words her eyes had begun to well up with tears. Just then she recalled how her heart leapt when she first read Eustace's letter telling her of this news. She remembered too how it had felt as though her dear father had been given back to her all in an instant.

But this afternoon, he had said goodbye and soon he would be racing away toward an uncertain future. Try as she had to be the stoic daughter of which he could be proud, her father had cupped her damp cheeks in his hands and said, "Do not cry Mary, for I do not intend to die," before placing a paternal kiss on her forehead.

Mary barely heard his farewells to Elizabeth and the Queen, for her ears were roaring from the screaming in her head. "Father, please don't leave me now that I know you love me," she had wanted to shout.

Now her heart was heavy. Duty called her, as beloved firstborn child, to be the steward of her family while her father was away. She would comfort the others and make him proud—all while locking away her own fears for all their sakes, but the thought of undertaking such a task exhausted her just now. She had come to lay her heart open to Eustace tonight, to draw strength from his reassurance; and yet, when she saw him eyes closed to the world, she had taken up her dutiful mantle and given him the rest she would not, _could not_ allow herself.

"How can I convince you to open up to me, Mary?" Her heavy sighs had woken Eustace.

"I rather though that is what only just occurred, my dear." She tried to simper, but meeting his gaze she saw he would not be put off so she moved to sit up in the bed. "I did not think it worth burdening you," she said to her hands in her lap.

"I am not so weak so you seem to think, Mary." He tried to keep the edge out of his voice.

"I do not think you weak," she protested. "It is only that I am loathe to add my troubles to yours."

Covering her hands with his own, he said, "But your troubles are my own, Tesoro. How can I be at peace when you are not?" He reached his up to stroke her cheek. His touch released the dam and her tears fell in earnest.

Her words tumbled out. "My father privately took his leave of us this afternoon in the Queen's chambers. I heard him tell her of the Act of Succession. He kissed me and said not to cry. I don't want him to go! What if he…these many months since his marriage have been such a relief. It feels like it might have been if he and my mother… It's girlish of me to cry so." She tried to laugh as she brushed her tears away with the hem of the bedclothes.

He reached for her cheek again. She sniffled and looked sheepishly up at him. With absolute intention he said, "My poor, sweet lady," and took her in his arms. She wept anew and he cradled her close crooning, "He has always loved you, and he will come back to you. Hush, Tesoro."

He wasn't entirely convinced of former and he could not know if the latter were true, but these were the things she needed to hear. This is what he could give her. Rest. Routines were demanding, routines were maddening, routines required rest.

**I'm terribly sorry for the delay, but this story has to happen organically or not at all. I hope those who are willing to stay with me feel rewarded... Reviews welcome :-) More on the way now that the gates have been re-opened!**


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